


advent calendar of porn / kinktober in july

by lovelyorbent



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: 1920s, 2) saying 'that's rad' every time we see a vagina, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Asphyxiation, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Body Worship, Bodyswap, Bondage, Childe/Sire Bond(s), Cock Warming, Come as Lube, Corsetry, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Feminization, Fisting, Fluff and Smut, Formalwear, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Kitchen Sex, Lingerie, Loss of Virginity, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Orgy, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Pegging, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Riding, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting, Sexual Roleplay, Sharing Clothes, Shower Sex, Size Kink, Sleepy Sex, Story within a Story, Stranger Sex, Stripping, Underwater Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Vampire Sex, Victorian, Voyeurism, also in public again i guess bc spike has 0 shame, body worship again but this time buffy is 40, fake infidelity/one night stand, falling asleep with a dick in your mouth: the title of spike's autobiography, frankly insufficient lube but more than you might expect given angel's whole deal, have some filthy christmas porn kids, i'm not really gonna tag this dom sub but some of it clearly is, safe sex but only as a prank, season 6 flavor hatesex where they boink in a graveyard, slayer blood is vampire viagra trope, spike also eats a lime out of angel's ass, spike and i have two things in common: 1) thinking buffy is hot, spike eats ass, storytelling but make it sexy, threesome sort of, vamp face during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 54,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyorbent/pseuds/lovelyorbent
Summary: *1: body worship (spuffy)2: public (spuffy)3: virginity (spangelus)4: underwater (spuffy)*5: cockwarming (spangel)6: nipple play (fuffy)7: pegging (spuffy)*8: corsetry (spangelus)9: strangers (spuffy)*10: aphrodisiacs (sprusilla)11: sleepy sex (spuffy)12: body swap (spuffy)13: biting (spangel)14: lingerie (fuffy)15: stripping (spuffy)16: overstimulation (spangelus)*17: ??? (spuffy)18: orgy (darla/dru/angelus/spike)19: sharing clothes (spangel)20: outdoors (spuffy)21: fisting (spuffy)22: voyeurism (spuffy + angel)23: daddy kink (spangelus)24: sexting (spuffy)25: bondage (spuffy)26: shower sex (fuffy)27: childe/sire stuff (spangelus)28: praise kink (spuffy)29: formal wear (sprusilla)*30: body shots/rimming (spangel)*31: old married sex (spuffy) - companion to ch. 1my favorites are starred.
Relationships: Angel/Spike (BtVS), Angel/Spike/Buffy Summers (BtVS), Angelus/Darla/Drusilla/Spike (BtVS), Angelus/Spike (BtVS), Drusilla/Spike (BtVS), Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers, Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 236
Kudos: 187





	1. body worship (spuffy)

**Author's Note:**

> stole somebody's kinktober prompt list and decided to do it during finals and the holiday season because (1) i hate my free time and (2) it's gonna keep me SHARP and also (3) vampires are sexy
> 
> unlike the first time i tried to do one of these i actually am not embarrassed to write porn now so hopefully it's gonna flow like water, although i don't promise a daily upload. pairings will be whatever i feel like on any given day so we'll probably be seeing a lot of spike, tags will update as i go, so will description
> 
> leave me a comment if there's something you want and i'll see if there's anything on the list i want to swap out

The sun in Rome was rising outside, and Buffy Summers was beautiful. The bedsheets were blue and Buffy Summers was beautiful. The room was quiet and Buffy Summers was beautiful and looking down at him with a little moue of confusion on her face. "Penny for your thoughts," she said, breathless as the muscles in her legs held her aloft, quivering as she rode him.

"Don't sell for less than a dollar, love," Spike told her distractedly, and stroked his hands slowly, slowly up her sides, thumbs skimming the bumps of her ribs, still too prominent, the lower curve of her breasts, damp with sweat. When she tried to speed her pace, he bent her body backwards, sitting up to take away some of her leverage, and settled her firmly against his hips, grinding their bodies together at a steady, easy pace. His mouth found her throat and his lips trailed down it until he found the hard line of her collarbone and kissed that, too, the fragile bone under his mouth tempting him to bite.

" _Please_ ," Buffy whispered, and for a moment he jerked, thinking she was pleading with him before realizing she was being sarcastic. "You literally say everything that pops into your head. Where's that mouth of yours now, huh, mister?"

Spike's thumbs, cool with his death and her sweat, slipped up the sides of her breast to skim gently across the front of her armpit, a sensation that should tickle but instead made her catch her breath. His mouth left a trail of kisses across her shoulder. "'bout half a meter north of heaven."

He could feel her laugh at that, muscles shaking around him, and resisted the urge to impale her on him and take her for the good hard ride she was asking for. Instead he bent her backwards again, leaving her clutching his shoulders to remain upright, and planted his lips on her breastbone, hands sliding their way down her back in a long, slow drag that left friction behind it that felt nearly hot. Her sternum, too close to the surface of the skin. The sweet inner curves of her breasts, two gorgeous handfuls that weren't quite enough to create cleavage without a bra. His mouth found the soft skin there, just at the heart of her, and pressed gentle, sucking kisses there. Most perfect bloody tits in all the world, lovely little half-cups that were flushed a light pink with Buffy's arousal, her nipples hard as glass and just waiting for someone's lips on them.

With the way she was bent, it was easy to lean down and take her left nipple in his mouth, earning a light "ah" from the Slayer as his hands slid around her front again, rubbing against the flat plane of her belly like he was soothing her when he bent his head to the other breast. The bow curve of her back bent under his fingers, and his hands wandered down to her hips, sharply thrown into relief by her position, and lifted her an inch or so before he pulled her back to him, shifting her just barely against his cock to keep her full and give her friction at once.

The sun in Rome had risen — he could feel it at the back of his head — and Buffy Summers was still beautiful. Golden skin, golden hair, eyes all swallowed by pupil. Sleek power, killers' scars, bitemarks on her throat. His line's, his and Angel's and the Master's. A warrior, hardened into a killing tool but no less a woman for it. She was making little whimpering noises as he inched in and out of her, his hands running all over the smooth planes of her back, the powerful muscles strapping her hips.

"Spike," she said, sounding overcome. The girl liked it hot and hard, but sometimes you needed time to smell the roses, he thought, mouth pressed against the lower curve of her breast.

"Mm."

"Spike!"

"Quiet down, Slayer, I'm enjoying myself." His thumb found her clit and rubbed at it until she convulsed around him, nails digging into his shoulders, filling the room with a subtle tang of blood. Then he lifted her off him, feeling himself so hard he was nearly aching, and pressed her down onto the sheets, hands now skimming back down her legs to her knees, the soft places underneath them, the delicate bone in her ankle as he crawled down her body, dragging his mouth down the line of her stomach. Her scent was stronger here, less jasmine shampoo and more woman, warm flesh and slick spendings. Christ alive, he thought, and licked the line of her hip, tasting salt and Slayer.

She was squirming now, panting after her orgasm, and with a stormy expression on her face from having him leave her empty. "You already — "

"Yeah, and I'm gonna do it again, pet, while you're still all hot and swollen from me."

Her teeth clacked right shut and one of her hands flew to her mouth to stop a gasp. He grinned at her, amused that she could still be shocked after all this time, and slipped her two fingers to make her squirm before he tucked his face back into the crease of her hip, nose stroking through the damp curls at her apex before he settled his mouth over her. Her hips flexed, but didn't make it off the bed thanks to his hand on her right thigh, trailing down. He didn't have to look at her legs to know just where that space behind her knee that would make her tremble when he brushed it. Didn't have to put her other leg into place for her to fit it over his shoulder and flex her foot against his back to push him closer.

The poet in him sang at the familiarity of old lovers, and he put his tongue to work tracing her lower lips, which were still puffy with arousal, and the slick little hole that was her opening, looking impossibly tight even after he'd had himself there to the hilt.

There wasn't a part of Buffy's body he didn't love. The sun in Rome was gilding the streets and he wished he could see her bathed in it just like this, naked and dazzling. She wasn't one of those girls who was blushingly embarrassed of her cunt, hadn't tried to push him away from it since the very first time, but he didn't quite think she understood what a pretty thing it was, especially after it had taken a workout like this. Little pearl peeking over her lips just begging for a suck, her folds shining all tickle me bloody pink, bruised into swelling sweet like a flower between her legs.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, and he could hear her starting to gasp again as he moved his fingers in her, his tongue across her, his hand up from her knee to the sloping curve of her waist. He could find his way around her blind — had done before, even before she had been willing to admit it — and although he could probably break rocks with his prick at the moment, he wasn't interested in a damn thing except for touching every gorgeous bloody inch. Every sweet spot she had: the bone of her hip, the hollow of her knee, her breasts and throat and wrists.

Without him to fill the room with a stream of light filth, it was all quiet except for her desperate gulps of breath and the wet suction of his mouth moving against her. The light sounds of her writhing on the bedsheets, his hands stroking her skin.

When she came again he slid back inside her with a smooth thrust and closed his eyes to focus on the feeling of her around him, beneath him, the well-practiced way their bodies fit together.

"I could sculpt you blind, love," he said in her ear when they had climaxed together, collapsed over her body in a languid mess. "Know every curve with the tips of my fingers, I do."

He felt the rumble of her amusement under his chest, and her fingers stroked through his hair. "You always get majorly weird after sex."

"I'll show you weird," he muttered, and ground his hips against her again, dragging a squeak from her as she tried halfheartedly to wriggle away.


	2. public (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two in a day? that's what procrastinating on your essays and also desperately wanting to write porn about these characters will do for you. if i fail out of school it's everyone reading this's fault
> 
> anyway, them doing the doozy during the will be done spell, with no attempt to be anything more than loosely canon-compliant

Buffy squeaked when he touched her the first time, and smacked him on the back of the head. "Giles is looking," she hissed, and Spike flashed her his sharp teeth and kept his hand exactly where it was, which was between her legs, cupping her with just enough pressure to make her _want_.

"Yeah, and? Not like he can see anything."

"I don't know what you're talking about and don't want to," Giles said loudly, covering his eyes as if he could see anything. 

"Stop it," Buffy hissed again, and Spike withdrew his hand, holding both of them up as if to say, _all right, I cry uncle_.

When she got back from the Magic Box and he pulled her back into his arms, she didn't resist. It was kind of weird, though, wasn't it? That Spike was so cuddly. He'd hardly kept his hands off her for a minute since he'd gotten down on one knee. She giggled against the side of his neck, and he squeezed her ass with one hand before he started kissing her neck. "God," she said, still laughing. " _Stop_ it."

"What, I can't kiss my girl?"

"That was not just kissing!"

"Please, not in my house," Giles moaned.

When the door banged open, neither of them looked up at first. "Roger and Jessica," Spike murmured against her mouth, and she frowned, confused until she turned around and saw Xander and Anya slamming the door behind them.

"Um, no. Xander and Anya," she told him, and he rolled his eyes, but she could feel him watching her with a sort of lazy pleasure while she told her friends about their engagement, his gaze heavy and sweet on her throat.

 _Vampires_ , she thought fondly, and retreated to his lap, where he dropped a possessive hand onto the curve of her waist and set his teeth against her ear. They had said they'd wait, she reminded herself when it sent a frisson of heat up her spine. And him living in Giles' bathtub was _so_ not a romantic setting for their first time.

He was making a good attempt at making her forget that, though. She guessed there were some advantages to being over a hundred; he had had a lot of practice at kissing and it felt a little like her mouth was being shown who it belonged to. While the three of them were huddled at the table, not looking at them, she grabbed his hand and pushed it downwards towards her waistband, grinning at him coquettishly only to smack him away when he took the bait and slipped his fingers under the elastic.

The look he gave her at that plainly read trouble. But then he kissed the side of her throat again and she decided the trouble couldn't be so bad.

He turned her so she was facing towards the room, brushing her hair aside from her neck so that it wouldn't get in his face. Then she felt his hand inching lower and lower on her back, until finally his fingers were tucked between her legs, cool and hard through the fabric of her pants and underwear. He pressed in, wrist tucked in against her ass, putting enough force behind it for her to feel the tug of her pants against her clit as his fingers dipped shallowly against her opening. She could feel the cloth slipping against her, wet like she was. Her breath caught, and she didn't push him away.

Xander and Giles were doing their level best not to look at the two of them, which was probably good even though his hand was hidden behind her, but Anya was now staring curiously.

Spike's fingers didn't stop. Buffy tried to keep her face from twitching.

The pressure was too blunt to be satisfying, not direct enough, and she desperately wanted to turn around, to straddle him and put his hand in her pants where it belonged, but Anya looked amused enough already and Xander kept glancing over at them like he wanted to pull his own eyes out of his head. "Roses," Spike said, casually, and when she looked back at him, confused, he pressed a little harder, gave her a placid smile belied by the mischievous light in his eyes.

They were so blue, she thought helplessly, and her voice cracked a little when she replied. "Roses?"

"For the wedding," he said.

"So cliché," Anya said, disapprovingly. "Although I suppose that you're from the time where flowers had meanings."

Spike twitched underneath her. "Nah," he said, his fingers circling on the fabric, which was beginning to get damp. "I was never into any of that bunk. Just like the color."

"Roses come in multiple colors," Anya told him, and Buffy was pretty sure that if she didn't stop looking at them she was going to embarrass herself, Slayer-style, by turning around and staking Spike for teasing her. "Red ones mean passionate love."

Spike shrugged. His silence smacked to Buffy of a lie, and she twisted to look at him. His face was still neutral, even though the shaking motion of his bicep was almost visible through his red overshirt as he flexed his fingers against her.

"If you three are quite done — " Giles said, and Spike's fingers disappeared. Buffy almost turned around and punched him, wet enough to be furious at the loss of contact. Innocently, he raised his fingers to his lips, looking for all the world as if he was just leaning on his hand, but she saw the quick contact of his tongue to the tips of them and it made her squirm, jolting when she noticed that he was hard underneath her, and — god. Were all vampires... like that? Or was Parker just underwhelming? He started to rock his hips against her, gently so he wouldn't move her much, but rubbing himself on her through their jeans.

"What are you _doing_ ," she hissed at him.

"You said no fingers while the Watcher is looking," he murmured. "'m being a good boy, aren't I?"

Buffy flushed to the neck. Angel had been referred to — in some dusty old tomes — as the demon with the face of an angel, but he had nothing on Spike's puppy eyes, wide and blue and so blithely charming that she almost told him he was. "No," she growled, wriggling in his lap in a way that made him catch his breath and tighten his hand on her waist. "Stop that."

"Stop getting off on you and go back to getting you off?" he whispered in her ear, and she flushed hotly.

"Are you two having sex?" Anya asked.

Buffy nearly choked. Spike just laughed, and lied so easily that it couldn't possibly sound anything but true. "Buffy would never. _I_ would, but you gotta meet in the middle in a relationship. Not every man lets himself be kept on a leash like Boy Wonder over there, see."

"I hate this," Xander said wonderingly, as if he had been suddenly thrown into an alternate universe where there were no shrimp, as Giles despairingly threw back another drink.

"A leash is certainly an idea," Anya said, and when Xander squawked, Spike took advantage of the two of them looking at each other to lean forward to her ear, voice so low even she could barely hear it.

"Cross your legs, pet."

She did, and he used her movement to conceal it when he slipped his hand back down the back of her pants, rubbing her now through her panties, still not quite at the right angle, but at least closer.

"Now squeeze those pretty thighs."

She did, and he circled his fingers across her, the squeeze putting tantalizing pressure on her clit without ever quite applying the sort of bite to the contact that she usually needed to get off. Still, it was enough to keep her soaking, body struggling not to tremble, jaw clenching to keep from falling open.

"Christ, love, your muscles — gonna squeeze my prick like a vice," he murmured, and then, at a normal volume, continued, "I think you'd better keep your last name, you know. Save you from being Mrs. the Bloody."

"That's unusually progressive of you, Spike," Anya told him, sounding approving.

Buffy was in a rhythm of flexing her muscles subtly in rhythm with the steady pace he was setting across her opening. Thank god these pants weren't tight, or the movement would be obvious to anyone who was watching closely enough — although, well. No one but Anya was interested in looking.

She bit her lip as he pushed her closer to the edge, and then took a deep, shaky breath and tried to look normal, although from the amused look on Xander's girlfriend's face, she doubted the girl was buying it.

Spike hooked his finger in the lace of her panties and tugged sharply, pulling them tight across her clit, and she squeaked at the sudden sensation.

"Everything okay?" Xander said, looking at Spike like he wanted an excuse to clock him, which he probably did.

"Yes," Buffy insisted. "I just — "

"Girl almost fell," Spike said calmly as he did it again, the noise of a stitch popping going unnoticed as Buffy hurtled over the edge, doing her level best to stay still and quiet. He kept his hand there stroking her as she leaned her head back against his shoulder, trying to look bored instead of like she was having an orgasm. "Just wiggled the wrong way, that's all, took a tip. Not to worry, Harris, I've got an arm out." He tightened the arm he had around her waist and tucked his chin against her shoulder.

"Can you maybe _not_ sit on his lap, Buff?" Xander asked. "It's seriously wigging me out."

Spike snorted, as if he wasn't hard under her ass, poking at the underside of her leg. "Let the girl sit where she wants."

"Yeah," Buffy told him, pleased with how even and not-breathless she sounded even with his hand still lying cool against her.

Just as Willow reappeared, Spike bent to her ear again and said, soft and sinuous, "I'm going to make our wedding night so bloody good for you."

Reality slamming back into them sent both of them scrambling, Buffy hoping desperately that her wetness hadn't darkened the crotch of her olive pants and Spike wild-eyed and staring at his own hand as if it had bitten him before he shoved it into his pocket. Both of them made their protests and Buffy spent the rest of the night doing her level best to stay separated by at least one piece of furniture, even though he was back in the chair.

She couldn't quite look him in the eye after that.

"Word of advice, Slayer," he said, and tossed her a roguish sort of wink as she was leaving. "Twist that ring around and you can give yourself a good ride."

Giles whacked him on the back of the head with a newspaper, and Buffy blushed when she looked at the skull on her finger and tore it off as she flounced down the walk.


	3. virginity (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i swapped out the prompt for today because, um,,,,, idk, man, i thought "licking" was a boring prompt. there's probably been licking in all these stupid things so far. and also i don't know why but i had a yen to write evil angel and spike getting it on, since we know it happened irl.
> 
> SLIGHT dubcon warning but like, given how many fics in the spangel tag involve angel fucking him with no lube or prep this is honestly pretty goddamn tame. i guess take my word for it that spike is into it

There wasn’t a thing under the sun that could be done in bed that Darla couldn’t give Angelus, and aye, wasn’t that the rub. He had Darla for a good hard fuck, and Dru to torture, and a hundred other cunts, living or dead, for any other thing he liked — and well, what good was a little English pretty boy, anyhow? Dru had barely managed to sire him, so addled was her sweet mind from Angelus’ ministrations, and he had taken days to wake. He was soft, too soft. Polite when he wasn’t ravenous and still alarmingly well-mannered. And Drusilla coddled him, the same way Angelus himself had coddled Drusilla once she had risen from her grave. Only difference was, Dru had already been broken. This boy had a defiant streak that was becoming obnoxious.

It wasn’t in evidence at the moment, though. The moment Angelus had taken him by the wrist and thrown him onto the bed he had gone languid and pliant, struggling a little when he was first pinned down, but then relaxing into the hold and tipping his chin up like he was expecting a kiss. The exposed throat caught his teeth instead, William hissing and thrashing under him as his grandsire’s fangs sunk in.

When he had subsided to allow the bite, Angelus raised his face and grinned at him, the grin that usually made victims quail and begin to sweat. “What’s the point in teaching you a lesson if you’re going to take it so easily, boy?”

William didn’t say anything at first, just panted like the human he wasn’t anymore, wide eyes flickering uncertainly between gold and blue, his mouth full of fangs and neck bleeding. When he did speak, he was breathless and his eyes had hardened to amber. “Do you _want_ me to be difficult?”

“You’re _always_ difficult.”

The boy’s muscles softened all at once, body going limp and quiescent under him, blue swallowing his eyes. Angelus laughed at the form of defiance that looked so much like submission.

“Do you know what the trouble with you is, Will?” he asked, voice soft and deadly as he hooked his fingers into the boy’s open collar and tore his shirt open down the middle. “You’re thick as shit and good for nothing but lying there and getting me shouting and roaring.” He paused, watching the sharp jaw clench, hearing the bruising grind of tooth on tooth as the boy struggled to keep his temper. “Well, good for a fuck, maybe, when I don’t want to take care like I do with my girls.”

That set the boy writhing. Maybe because he knew that Angelus didn’t take much care with his girls, or maybe because of the way Angelus had settled his hips down over him to emphasize his point.

“ _Be still_ ,” he growled, and locked his teeth back into the punctures he had just left until William’s body relaxed under his again, easily as a scruffed kitten.

“I haven’t — ”

“That’s how I like it.”

If the boy could have blushed then he would have. “Angelus — ”

“Sire.”

“You’re not my sire.”

“For the night, boy, I’m your _God_.” He laughed again when the trousers William was wearing twitched with arousal. “So I’m going to give you a choice to pray, Will. See how _benevolent_ I’ll be.”

Silence. William blinked at him, and then his mouth fell open just a little in realization. “Teach me, please,” he said, quietly, and then, nose wrinkling, added, “sire.”

“Strip,” Angelus ordered, and sat back on the end of the bed to watch him do it, looking nearly bashful even despite the fact that Angelus had watched him put his cock in Dru before, and wasn’t seeing anything new. His limbs were pale and lean and seemed longer than they needed to be for someone who was barely of a height with Dru. As he tore his shirt off his hair was upset into a wild riot of golden-brown curls, and Angelus watched him impassively as he finished, looking for all the world like he wanted to cover his belly to protect himself from attack.

“Sire — ”

“That’s twice now, lad. So I’ll give you two minutes.”

“Two minutes for — ?”

Angelus tossed him a bottle of lamp oil and sat back to watch him look at it, confused.

“Angelus — I don’t know how — ”

“You have a minute and fifty seconds to find out, my boy.”

William blinked, his eyes looking for a moment almost unbearably young before he scrambled to uncap the bottle. _Leaves of Grass_ was lying on the bedside table, its spine broken open and cramped handwriting scrawled in the margins. Angelus picked it up as the boy dumped oil over his own hand and snorted to see that it was open to _I Sing the Body Electric_.

A soft irritated noise made him throw the book over his shoulder, and William hardly seemed to notice, face screwed up as he felt around between his legs, one hand holding his cock awkwardly to the side.

“From the back,” Angelus said, which was benevolent indeed, and watched him duck his head and resituate himself as Angelus was getting his own prick out. “A minute and a half.”

The boy’s face twitched, plainly misliking the sensation. There was a good way to do this, of course. Stroking across the hole, softening the muscle, easing fingers in one at a time until you could fit a prick with hardly any pain. But Angelus rarely bothered with that, and two minutes weren’t enough to teach yourself that way. Instead there was the sound of slick skin on skin, the minute twitches of the flat, pale stomach muscles, those nervous sharp new-childe teeth piercing the pink lower lip and bloodying it.

“Time,” he said, and William moved so quickly that Angelus almost didn’t catch the boy’s wrist before his greasy hand was swiping up the shaft of his cock, slicking him. That drew a laugh out of him, and a triumphant look from the boy, and then he was flat on his back under his grandsire. The boy really was pretty, you could say that for him. There had been paintings of Ganymede that didn’t look quite so fey.

“What is this supposed to be teaching me?” William asked snidely, and Angelus decided mercy was over and hilted himself in a single thrust. “ _Sire_!” he cried, as if that would earn him anything but a good hard fuck. The boy was tight — not stretched enough for it not to hurt, and only _just_ slick enough not to burn. _Virgins_ , he thought, as the ink-stained hands flew up to clutch at his shoulders. He looked just as Dru had at that first moment of penetration, eyes wide with surprise and mouth open, torn somewhere between pain and pleasure and hardly able to catch his breath.

“Where you belong,” Angelus told him as he slammed in again. “Beneath me with your legs spread. I won’t be touching that prick of yours.”

William didn’t answer. Didn’t reach for himself, either, just clung on like a limpet while Angelus plowed him open, taking gulps of air against his throat at every harsh inwards thrust. The hitched breaths he was taking sounded as if he was sobbing, but when Angelus bit into him again, he tasted like nothing but lust, and the line of his cock was unfailingly hard between their stomachs. He made a broken little punched-out noise every time Angelus accidentally hit him right.

A man would be crying. But vampires _liked_ a little pain, and William, who — for all his failings, his defiance, his unsuitable temperament and barely-functional killer instinct — was eager to please even when he tried to hide it, liked _this_. Being used, being useful. Angelus wasn’t blind. The boy looked up to him.

The boy had a sweet, tight ass and a body made to be cradled like this, caged against the mattress and ridden like a whore. Darla, who actually _was_ a whore, had never been so yielding. Maybe Dru had some taste after all; he seemed to be getting a charge from being made to submit.

He was mumbling into Angelus’ neck, something that was a plea or at least had the tone of one, and then there was a shift in his body and his fangs sank deep into his grandsire’s throat, taking a pull of his blood before Angelus roared and finished inside him, shaking off his teeth and pinning him to the mattress by the throat, noticing only too late that there was semen spilt between them, as well. “Did I give you permission to bite me, childe?”

“I needed — ”

A snarl, but the boy just squirmed around him, not seeming particularly afraid. “You _need_ to lie still and take what I give you.”

“I — ”

“Haven’t learned a god-blessed thing.”

A smile bloomed there on William’s face, and Angelus realized he’d been played. His fangs dropped in fury, and he yanked the boy off his cock and flipped him over, sinking his prick back inside him and his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, hard enough to make him scream.

The sheets would be bloodstained by the evening, and the boy would be catatonic.


	4. underwater (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anyway, i might as well just be like here have this ambiguous post s7 au where the kids are banging and traveling for work
> 
> zakynthos has caves in the water so vampires could theoretically go to the beach during the day
> 
> the prompt for this was actually bath sex but this is way more fun. not a lot of actual porn in this one because i was having fun with the setting and them horsing around

"If this stupid vampire gets my hair wet I'm going to _extra_ stake him," Buffy grumbled as she waded out of the cave and into the moonlight sparkling off the Grecian sea. What extra staking someone might mean short of getting all Spike-y with some bits of wood was a mystery to her, but she would figure out a way to make it happen.

"Better wear a bathing suit, love," he'd said casually as she was getting ready for the night. As it turned out, he'd been right, but he hadn't told her to put her hair up in a ponytail, which — of course he hadn't, he had some sort of thing for seeing it down.

Staking vampires in the ocean. What a stupid concept; the dust would be all sticky. But Spike had insisted that Zakynthos was a vampire hot spot, and she'd been itching for some good old-fashioned vamp action, a phrase she no longer used around him because she was sick of him waggling his stupid eyebrows. He'd been right about the activity here, too, her Slayer senses hadn't stopped tingling since she'd gotten near the beach in the daytime, which had confused her immensely until he had told her about the caves. Human attraction at night; vampire attraction during the day.

"Besides," he'd told her. "Fighting without those high kicks you like so much'll be a good little workout for that pretty Slayer brain'f yours."

She'd punched him in the arm. "Hey, baby," she called to the vampire thirty feet ahead of her in the water. He had a speed advantage in not having to breathe while swimming. "Don't you want to play Jaws with me?"

Whatever he said in reply, it wasn't in English, and he kept running. Another voice called out to him from somewhere in the dark to their left, and he beelined for it, out into the sea. Buffy sighed, recognizing it, and followed him out to a finger of rock where Spike was obligingly helping him out of the water, a moment of solidarity between two vamps that, unfortunately for her prey, was going to be short-lived. Spike locked one arm around the vampire's throat and the other around his waist, holding him in place while Buffy dragged herself out of the water to stand in front of them. "Guess he doesn't want to play, kitten."

"Fortunately for me, there's plenty of fish in the sea," she said, as the vampire crumbled into a cloud of ash, which promptly adhered to her wet skin as it floated towards her on the wind. She made a face. "Ugh. I so did not need to powder my nose right now."

"Looks like you need a wash, love," Spike said, sounding concerned, which should have been her first clue. Her second clue should have been that he put his hands on her waist instead of plucking at the straps of her bikini bottom. But her mind caught up with it about a second too late, when he was already tossing her backwards into the sea.

She resurfaced with a furious shriek to the sound of his laughter, hair plastered to her neck and back, and started trying to scramble out of the water to get at him, a plan he thwarted effectively by jumping over her head, landing in the water with a splash, and then disappearing under it, skin so pale that her mostly-colorless night vision couldn't distinguish the shape of him moving in the water from the white sand below. "I'm going to make you _wish_ you'd never been brought back from the dead," she threatened, and plunged after the sound when she heard him laugh again.

He was leading her back to the caves, she realized as she struggled to keep up. She was starting to think he'd just picked this for an environment where he'd have the advantage when he suddenly surfaced from the water in front of her, taking her stake away when she halfheartedly leveled it at him and slipping his hands to the sides of her waist.

The moonlight still reached this far into the cave, but they were shaded from the eyes of anyone walking on the beach as he moved forward to kiss her, only to be stopped by her finger on his lips, her face set in a grim, annoyed line. "Nuh uh, mister," she said. "No kissage for jackasses who get my hair wet."

He shrugged. "Turnabout is fair play."

" _Your_ hair's _already_ wet." She put a hand in it and pushed him backwards into the water that lapped at her mid-ribcage, and dunked his face again when he came up to give her a grin that meant he was pleased with the way this was going.

When he raised it again, he licked the salt off his lips before he spoke, looking utterly unrepentant. "D'I get to pay penance now, Mistress?"

Buffy managed to get half a sentence out of her mouth. "Stop calling me — "

And then his hand was yanking her underwater again, pulling her under his body and nipping at her throat before she managed to struggle free. He popped up out of the water holding a dark piece of fabric in his hands, and she realized he'd somehow managed to relieve her of half her swimsuit without her realizing it. She lunged for him and he caught her around the waist, stumbling backwards in the sea until it was his back against the rock. But then, when she reached for him to pummel him, he disappeared from her hands, the length of his body the same temperature as the water as he laid it against her legs, chin dipping under the water as he kissed her navel. There was a flash of gold in his eyes, and then he was slipping under entirely, grabbing her by the ankle and lifting her knee over his shoulder so she was pinning him against the rock.

Oh, thank god he didn't need to breathe, she thought as he laid his mouth over her, licking her to wetness as her fingers convulsively reached for his curls, which were just barely below the water, using the purchase to grind his face into her mound.

The water was warm and the moonlight in the caves wasn't bright enough to see him underwater, but she could feel his hands on her ass, his cool tongue slipping skillfully against her, inside of her, firm enough to make her pant but not quite enough to push her towards an orgasm. Letting loose a little growl he probably couldn't hear, she took ahold of the rock shelf he was pressed under and lifted her other leg, using her powerful thigh muscles to crush him to her, the line of his nose hard against her clit. In surprise, he exhaled the breath he had taken before he went under against her — sooner than he'd meant to, surely — and she was treated to a sensation that she had been pretty sure wasn't possible without a showerhead that had adjustable water pressure.

"Oh, god," she said to no one, and flexed her thighs around his ears to thrust against his face. She could feel him laughing under the water, sending vibrations through her for a moment before he set his tongue to work again, letting her ride against his face while he sucked at her. The only things keeping her upright were her hands on the rock and his on her hips, her legs wrapped around his neck.

He always seemed so inordinately thrilled when she took control like this, and she could hear him groaning into her, pulling her hard against his mouth and rocking her hips against his face so hard it had to hurt. His tongue felt different under the water; her wetness wasn't as clinging, and she could feel the texture of it more plainly, almost rasping as he swept it across the delicate skin, lapping at her entrance and her folds while his nose and front teeth took turns at her clit, little barely-there alternations of hard pressure and teasing pinches.

Harder than a normal girl might like, but she wasn't a normal girl. He blew water against her again, and she writhed on his shoulders, nearly overbalancing when he lifted her to surface for a moment, taking a gulp of air and returning to his work, releasing it in a hard, tickling exhale that affected her more by its novelty than anything.

When she finally locked her legs around his head and came, he had driven her to the other side of the cave, holding her up against the rock while she pulled insistently at his hair, moving his head against her while he circled her clit with the hard point of his tongue. The rock scraped at her back as she spasmed, and when he let her down, there was a tinge of red in the water that she hardly noticed as she went up on tiptoes to kiss him as he came up, his hair wild from the water and her hands and his mouth tasting of salt, warm from being planted between her thighs.

She reached for him and found him hard, warmer than usual from the water, and she began to guide him between her legs, still sensitive from orgasm and twitching to welcome him, before she realized that both of his hands were gripping her waist. Buffy looked around and frowned. "Spike... where is my bikini bottom?"

He drew back from her to raise his empty left hand, and then one of his eyebrows. "Huh. Well, I _tried_ to keep ahold of it. Must've floated off."

"And my stake?"

" _That_ I just tossed."

Buffy blinked at him for a moment, and then pushed him over and swam away.

"Hey!"


	5. cockwarming (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the prompt for this one was actually swallowing, but again, boring, and cockwarming wasn't on the list so here we are. like i'm sorry but we all know (1) buffy doesn't swallow on principle during season 6, (2) spike has an oral fixation so we all know what he's going to do if there's a dick in that mouth
> 
> me: i'm gonna do this person's porn prompt list  
> also me: but like, i will change the prompts three out of every five days  
> also also me: well, technically there's swallowing in this
> 
> i guess this is also technically more public sex than chapter 2

The only explanation for not knowing Spike was in his office immediately was distraction. Angel had been flipping through a file when he walked in, and when he had sat down, the chair had been facing the window. It was only when he spun it around and dumped the file on the desk that he noticed the vampire lying casually underneath it and jumped as if he wasn't three hundred years old and much scarier than most things that could fit under his desk. "Jesus."

Spike had the special gift of seeming childish when he was doing very serious things, and seeming adult when he was doing things that, objectively, were only appropriate for children to do. For example, hiding under desks. He was smoking under there, back flat on the ground and legs cross-legged and propped up on the side of the desk. He was wearing grey jeans and a t-shirt that was possibly painted on, and his arms were crossed behind his head, looking for all the world like he was laying out on the grass in a park and enjoying a sunny day instead of disobeying the no-smoking policy on the scratchy carpet on the top floor of an evil law firm. "Know what, sire, you never lost the accent on that word." He threw on a hackneyed Irish brogue. " _Jay_ -sus."

" _Sire_?" He reached down to pull the cigarette out of Spike's mouth and stubbing it out on the side of the trash can before dropping it in. "And stop smoking in here."

"Want to give me something better to do with my mouth?" Spike asked.

" — is this hell?"

Spike grinned and gestured at himself. "And all the demons are here."

Angel narrowed his eyes at him, wondering if there had been something weird in the coffee this morning. Or if someone had made the mistake of _giving_ Spike coffee this morning. "Get out from under my desk, Spike. What do you want?"

"I'm looking for a bit of a tumble, what else? Know you're game."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Spike sighed, rolling to his knees and putting his hands on either of Angel's thighs, looking up at him with clear blue eyes through dark lashes. Despite the clothes and the hair, he could be William again, all wide-eyed innocence and need. It would almost be disturbing how easily he could switch from looking dangerous to looking harmless, except that Angel himself had been the one who'd taught him that.

"Puppy eyes don't work on me. Especially not yours."

The mouth fell open slightly, looking soft, revealing the barely-there points of slightly extended fangs that made Spike look like a new-fledged childe again. His voice was velvet-smooth and murmur-quiet. "Please, sire."

Angel closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. The disadvantage of spending twenty years intermittently fucking someone senseless was that they eventually figured out what buttons to press, and he knew Spike was looking directly at the beginnings of a bulge in his trousers and feeling triumphant.

"I'll be good," Spike continued, still low and easy. "You know how good I'll be."

Angel growled and reached for his waistband.

When he opened his eyes, the sweet little fang-nibs had retreated and it was all Spike, cocky master vampire, who was grinning up at him, cheek resting against the inside of his knee. "You're so easy. Little bit of the old — " he teased his tongue over the edge of his canine, hardly smaller than the fangs he had been sporting before, " — the classic — " an exaggerated pout as Spike moved between his legs, helping fumble him out of the fly of his trousers. " — and down come the knickers out of your arse."

"You're talking past the sale, Spike."

"Like you're not gagging to put that massive prick of yours down my throat."

"Speaking of gagging — "

"Like I would," Spike scoffed, and bent forward in a smooth motion to take Angel's tip into his mouth. Lesser men would have groaned as soon as they felt the smoke-warmed inside of Spike's cheek slip over the head of their cock. Angel managed to hold out until Spike looked up at him, raised an eyebrow, and sucked like he was trying to pull a golf ball through a garden hose, so hard it almost hurt.

He wasn't really aware that he was swearing floridly until a knock came on the door, and he scrambled to push the chair forwards to hide himself as Wesley opened it and poked his head in. "Are you quite all right?" Angel felt the light pressure of one of Spike's fingers drawing a heart on his thigh, and then he slid, smoothly and noiselessly, down his length until the cusp of his throat was pressing against the crown. Then he swallowed, the tip of his nose coming to rest gently against Angel's belly as his cock slipped inside the tight muscle.

"Fine," he said, as evenly as he could. Spike didn't appear to be going anywhere, but he wasn't sitting still and playing dead, either. Every so often his throat would flex, constricting as he swallowed, and Angel would see stars again.

"You look a bit — "

"I'm fine, Wes."

One raised eyebrow, and then the door shut again. Spike started to pull off, but Angel grabbed his hair and shoved him back down, enjoying the surprised noise he made, the way he looked up at him and narrowed his eyes.

"If you want to suck me off so badly you'll do it in front of Wesley, get to it."

Spike shrugged, and then got to it. He had perfected the art, sometime in the year 1894, of holding Angel in his mouth and working it against him without moving much, an essential skill when there were other people in the bed to be gotten in the way of, even if it was rare for him to be the one in the middle. It involved a fair amount of suction and tongue and convulsive swallowing, and his finishing move, which had probably come naturally to him as a fledgeling but was now calculated — the minute extension of his fangs as he lost control, little thorns in Angel's flesh that hurt just exactly in the right way.

When Angel came he was too far down Spike's throat for him to have any choice about swallowing. Then he tried to pull back again, and Angel put a hand on the back of his head to stop him. "Stay," he said, and Spike's eyes went wide. From his experience with Angelus, a blowjob was mostly a diversionary tactic to give him enough time to get himself slicked up before his grandsire threw him down.

But, well. Angel wasn't Angelus. Not entirely, anyway.

"I'm going to do my work," he said calmly, as if his cock wasn't twitching back to hardness in the tight confines of Spike's throat. "And you're going to stay there, because you told me you'd be good. Isn't that right, Will?"

Spike made a noise around him. Angel wanted to describe it as a whimper, but Spike would probably prefer the word "groan." Whatever it was, the vibration of it was pleasant, and he stroked his thumb down the back of Spike's head before he let go and focused on the files.

The next hour was deeply unproductive. Spike made him come again, twice, which meant that he had to reread the case file about three or four times, and also that he tore it slightly down the middle and had to get Harmony to reprint it. Spike had sucked him with a sort of vindictiveness during that phone call that had made her ask, "Uh, boss, are you okay?" when his voice had abruptly cracked.

The hour after that Spike occupied with bothering him in other ways, like trying to untie his shoelaces and tickling the underside of his knee. When that failed to get him a reaction, the fangs came out again, little and sharp and not growing even when Angel just sighed and rocked his hips against his face, maybe because Spike knew that really making him bleed was a one-way ticket to being sent home unsatisfied. 

By the time his three o'clock rolled around, Spike had subsided into lazy relaxation, suckling every so often to keep from drooling but otherwise just resting his chin between the columns of Angel's thighs, his hands hanging loosely from the edge of the desk chair. Before the clients walked in, Angel ran a hand through his hair, still stiff from gel, and murmured to him, "Keep quiet and I'll give you what you want afterwards."

Spike just looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, mouth stretched and pink around him, and tipped his head to rest his cheek against Angel's leg. Angel didn't get up to shake the clients' hands, but they just frowned and sat down in front of him to talk business, looking like they weren't entirely pleased with the firm's new management.

 _Join the club_ , he thought. They didn't seem to notice anything, which might be because they were humans and not endowed with any sort of extra senses, or might be because Spike had obediently produced not even a murmur since the door had opened. In fact, he'd been death-still, almost easy to ignore, and by the time the clients finally left, Angel looked down to see the reason why: he had fallen asleep, mouth lax and lashes skimming his cheeks. There was wetness pooling sloppily at the corner of his mouth, but then, he'd always been a sleep drooler anyway. 

If Spike were awake to see it, he would have laughed, mostly for show. Since he wasn't, he just went back to his work. At least this way his grandchilde wasn't wandering around bothering anyone.

He was surprisingly productive. Maybe he should look into doing this more often.

It was obvious when Spike woke up because he started and almost bit down before he realized where he was. This time when he withdrew, Angel didn't stop him, sliding half-hard out of his mouth and watching Spike wipe the spit off of his face and massage the hinges of his jaw. "Fuck me, that hurts." His voice was raspy and slurred, no doubt ruined by the way the head of Angel's cock had been stretching out his throat for the last few hours. "How long was I — "

Angel checked his watch. "Ninety minutes."

A hum. Spike's head was still listing against his thigh. "You've got too much'f a jaw cracker for that much of that, sire."

Snorting, Angel took him by the back of the t-shirt and pulled him up into his lap. Spike went easily — he always was when he'd just been asleep — and slumped sideways against him, grabbing for his hand and guiding it down between his legs. He stroked him through his jeans, long slow rubs that made the wetness that had been gathering there darken the grey denim just slightly, until Spike started panting into his neck. Then he used the heel of his hand to grind down on him, and Spike shuddered in his arms and came, going boneless again as soon as he had stopped shivering.

He slid off like he'd been turned into a liquid, legs clearly shaky underneath him, possibly from being folded so long, and flopped onto the couch across the room, all loose muscles and coltish limbs.

" — Spike?"

"Shut up, old man. 'm going back to sleep."


	6. nipple play (fuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALL THREE of the prompts for this day were boring but i obligingly picked one of them anyway because i felt somewhat ashamed of how much i switch out the prompts. i really wanted to skip ahead to pegging, but i was strong and i wrote about faith having nipple piercings instead
> 
> reverting to form and writing buffy fuckin the Ladeez. don't we love the tiddeez y'all
> 
> also do i end each of these with a punchline? yes, i'm sorry but i can't break away from my comedy roots

Buffy had kissed vampires — multiple vampires, vampires plural — and yet Faith was still the bitey-est kisser she'd ever experienced, probably by far. She was also, by not so far, probably the strongest; when she had shoved Buffy onto the bed she had gone down so hard she had bounced nearly all the way back onto her feet, catapulting back into Faith's leather-clad arms and yanking her down when she fell again. Faith cackled for a moment, sprawled on top of her body, but then smashed their mouths back together, sinking her teeth into Buffy's lower lip as she withdrew.

"Off, off," Buffy told her, pushing at her jacket, and she shed it like it was toxic waste, into a pile on the floor.

Faith slipped her hands up under Buffy's shirt and started pushing it up. "If I'm getting naked, you're getting naked, B. Q.P.Q, sister. Or should I say — "

" — tit for tat?"

The two of them grinned at each other, and Buffy raised her arms to let Faith tear her shirt off. She heard the sound of a seam popping and groaned in annoyance, but then Faith was straddling her, kissing her and cupping her white-lace-covered breasts, squeezing her almost hard enough to hurt. It was the same principle that had worked on her lips; now swollen and bruised, they were achingly sensitive to every time Faith touched her. She wondered if Faith would keep going, bruising her until her whole body was one big nerve, but instead she started clawing at the back of Faith's purple tank top until it came peeling off over her head, sending her long, dark hair spilling in curtains around them.

She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts were devoid of tan lines, heavier than Buffy's own and tipped with dark nipples that — Buffy drew in a harsh breath just before Faith started kissing down her neck — had delicate little silver barbells through them, sparkling on each end with a blood-red jewel. Her own breasts (were they too pointy? They were pointier than Faith's) pressed up against the other girl's collarbones, the bra pushing them up high and tight where Faith's were softly flattened against Buffy's stomach as she moved lower.

It was funny how a girl as hard as Faith could _be_ so soft. Her hair was silk-smooth, her skin warm and vital and delicate, the blue veins running underneath so close to the surface. Her kisses were sharp, and so were her nails scraping down Buffy's ribcage, but — Buffy bit her own lip, sending a zing through her when it impacted the bruise. She was used to a significantly harder profile. The softness of Faith was almost a revelation.

Mesmerized, she put her hands on the sides of Faith's breasts, thumbs brushing the piercings hesitantly. "Did it hurt?"

"God, I forgot how easily chicks get distracted," Faith said. "Yes, but if you pull on them it'll be worth it."

Buffy grabbed each barbell between her thumb and forefinger and pulled.

Faith's head fell back in an exaggerated expression of boredom. "Like you _mean_ it, B! Like we're Slayers."

Buffy narrowed her eyes and then twisted. Faith sucked in a sharp breath and arched her back, pressing forward into the stimulation. Oh, yeah, she thought, a grin spreading over her face. She was so not going to be all passive girl. Leveraging her foot against the mattress, she threw Faith over, rolling to land on top of her, still between her legs. Faith laughed brightly and pushed back, toppling them onto the floor, and it took Buffy a few minutes to come up on top.

The last person she'd been this athletic with in bed was Spike, and — well, come to think of it, he'd yowled when she'd bitten his nipples. She bent her head to run her tongue around the tip of her right breast — it tasted like skin, but maybe she should have expected that — and then, when Faith murmured, "Oh, yeah," bit down.

Faith nearly threw her, Buffy's hand going to her left nipple and pinching at the barbell hard to make her writhe as she teased the piercing in her mouth with her teeth, fitting them under the ends and pulling upwards before sucking, laving her tongue over it. This was softer too, even with the nipple pulling into a tight little peak under her tongue. Faith had her hands tangled in the back of Buffy's hair, intermittently pulling as if she were trying to get relief from the sensation and pressing her closer so she could do it again.

"Who knew you were such a _wildcat_ ," Faith cheered, and wriggled underneath her until she had her legs straddling one of Buffy's thighs. Still leather-clad. If Buffy knew leather — if Buffy knew _Faith_ — that wasn't going to be nearly enough pressure.

She sat up, trying to look imperious, and rocked her thigh against her, feeling her hot through her trousers, hot through Buffy's jeans, then grabbed Faith's right hand and shoved it up against her breast, still wet from Buffy's mouth, the nipple swollen and dark, diamond hard around the sparkly little bar. "Play with it."

Faith raised an eyebrow, her burgundy-painted lips stretching in a wicked smile. "Oh, are you my boss?"

Buffy used her left hand to tug punishingly on the piercing and listened to Faith's mouth snap shut over a sound that was probably a curse. "Uh huh."

"So what are we doing now, boss?" Faith sing-songed, sounding thoroughly unconvinced, even though she was pressing her chest up into Buffy's hands.

She was answered by Buffy's slim fingers popping the button on her pants and sliding inside as she lowered her mouth back down, this time to Faith's left breast to lave her tongue over the crown of it, feeling the jewel rasp under her tongue before she looked back up at Faith and gave her a look that usually meant _vampires beware_. "I _said_ , play with it."

"Oh, _hell_ yes," Faith agreed, spreading her legs for Buffy to worm her hand in under her panties, meeting first curls and then the soft wetness underneath them. It was easy — easier than it had been the first time she'd done it to herself — to slip her finger inside, the heel of her hand grinding down against the front of Faith's mound to save her the trouble of finding her clit blind.

When she put her teeth back against Faith's nipple the other Slayer clenched around her so tightly it was nearly painful. "One finger is pussy shit," Faith purred, and tweaked her own nipple, probably harder than Buffy had done it. "Gimme another, baby."

The second finger was harder to slide in, with Faith tight around her and moving her hips against Buffy's hand, particularly since the angle was hell on her wrist, but when Faith tried to hurry her, Buffy narrowed her eyes again and bit down hard enough to make her yelp. When she sat up a little bit, Faith's mouth was hanging open, her eyes heavy and cheeks flushed with pleasure. Her nipples were shining, from Buffy's mouth and from the bars stuck through them, catching the light, and the tips were red and bitten to rigid peaks, begging for attention that Buffy was finding she was more than happy to give them.

The third finger went in easier, but when Buffy lightly grazed her teeth over the abused surface of one of Faith's nipples, her cunt closed on them like a vice.

The principle that worked on Buffy's lips, she thought triumphantly, and closed them over Faith's nipple again, sucking to feel her mouth swollen and sensitive, to get the little peak hot and needy under her tongue.

Faith was riding her hand now, still using the fingers of her left hand to play with her breast and her right to hold Buffy down against the other, Slayer-strong and lost in pleasure. Buffy couldn't get up much leverage with Faith's pants in the way, but the girl didn't seem to need much help, clenching her thighs and her inner muscles around her hand and writhing against her.

Buffy could tell when she came because it was nearly painful around her fingers, Faith's whole body spasming and her hand yanking at Buffy's hair, which only served to jostle her teeth on the piercing, pulling back against it. Faith moaned at the tug, and pulled harder, and then the contractions of her cunt around Buffy's fingers pulsed so strongly they nearly pushed them out, wet and slick.

The sound of Buffy pulling them out was barely audible and mostly sounded like creaking leather, but Faith still giggled, eyes closed and thighs still clenching as if there was something there to clench at.

They lay on the floor for a moment, panting, and then Faith groped around for her cell phone. Buffy frowned and started shimmying out of her jeans. "What are you doing?"

"Calling Angel. Telling him I'm the new Layer of Slayers."

The noise that came out of Buffy's mouth could only be called a squawk.


	7. pegging (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look, we all know damn well buffy pegged him. we all know it. you know it, i know it, i could have written one of the many times i'm sure it's happened but i wrote the first time instead during s6 because it's WAY FUNNIER if she's all omg, i put what in where? and he's like baby please i am such a good bottom just try it

"Fuck me, Slayer."

He'd been saying it for weeks. Throwing up his hands in the Magic Box. (Fuck me, Slayer, how was I supposed to know all the bloody things that set off your little goody-two-shoes detector?) Grinning at her on patrol, an expression a few shades away from "awestruck" but a step up from "impressed." (Fuck me, Slayer, you're in proper form tonight, look at you go.) In bed, hands on her hips as she bounced on him, moaning. (Oh, god, fuck me, fuck me, Slayer, please, love.)

"You have got to be kidding me." She looked at the thing he was holding in his hand and shook her head. " _Why_?"

"Your why or my why?"

"Both."

"Yours is, I've got a nifty little vibrating attachment that'll give you yours while you give me mine, and besides, haven't you ever wanted to put me in my place? Show me what's what? Mine is, it feels bloody fantastic and I don't go arse up for just anyone who asks, so I've been wanting."

"... you _like_ that?"

"And you will too when I show it to you, love, but I thought, better do me first, for equality's sake."

"Like you give a shit about equality."

"Buffy, if it makes you happy I will get down on my bloody knees and suck it first. Beg you for it a bit? Maybe get you off a time or two before we bring it out again."

"Um, the last two."

Spike grinned, the expression of a shark smelling blood in the water, and laid back on the bed. "Bring me that tight little pussy, then. You can make me beg when my mouth isn't busy."

She had almost forgotten about it by the second time he licked her to climax, but when he lifted her up to lay her on her back and keep working, she felt something cold under her shoulderblade and reached behind herself to pull out the smooth metal shaft. it was surprisingly heavy, chilly from the crypt and shining dully in the low light. She was used to extremes from Spike, but this looked... almost tasteful, actually. Normal-sized (bigger than Parker, smaller than Angel) and crafted with what, if it weren't in the shape of a penis, she might call artfulness.

"So, I just — " She made a staking motion.

He snorted, rolling out of bed, moving catlike to the box that he kept pulling new depraved things out of. "Nah, let me get the harness."

It fit on with black straps over her hips and legs — his hands were sure and steady when he fastened it, fingers running over her a _little_ more than was strictly necessary — and the dildo anchored squarely over her pubic bone. It looked odd there, riding higher on her hips than she would have expected, putting light pressure on the flesh that hid her clit. "Um, where's the attachment you promised me?"

"Relax, it's on the bedside table. I'll take care of you," he said casually, and uncapped a little bottle. "Actually, this part's mostly for me, but we can't have you wringing that pretty cunt of yours dry before I get another chance at it."

She watched, almost mesmerized, as he coated his fingers in what she now realized was lube. The same brand Anya bought, although she was disgusted at the fact that she knew that. "What are you doing?"

"Reckon since you're not the type of girl to roger me bloody, I'd get the foreplay out of the way." He grinned at her. "What, you wanna watch?"

Buffy wanted to say no, but when he went up on his knees facing the headboard, one hand grabbing onto it while the other slipped between his legs, she didn't look away. His hand was in the way, but she could see his fingers disappearing, hear the little slippery noises as he stretched himself out. He was unusually silent during, looking back at her every so often with a roguish tilt of his eyebrow but not spilling his usual stream of dirty talk. He didn't often have his back to her — pretty much nothing they did _didn't_ involve something on his front — and she looked with naked fascination at the curve of his back, wondering if his waist had always been that tapered, the curve of his ass always that muscled.

It was funny. Turn Spike around so you couldn't see his stupid face and he was kind of beautiful. Without meaning to, she reached out to stroke her fingers down his spine, a smooth dip down the center of his back, and blinked when he sucked in a harsh, surprised breath and jerked his head around to look at her, confused eyes fading to smug ones so fast she almost missed it. "View's not bad, huh, Slayer?"

"I think your ass looks better in jeans," she said, reaching for the vibrator on the bedside table and avoiding his eyes because _it's terrible_ would be a lie and _yes_ was admitting too much.

"Liar," he scoffed, and pulled his fingers away with a wet sound that weirdly made her clench her thighs. "Right, you like it this way, I can take it this way." He put his other hand on the headboard and opened his knees a little, giving her that patented come-hither smile over his shoulder. "Slick it, there's a good girl, and I reckon you can figure the rest out."

It was harder than she had thought it would be, actually, to find the angle, particularly with the distraction of the vibrator. At first she aimed too high, and slipped off. Then she managed to get the tip in, but met with resistance until his hips dropped, back bowing down in a graceful curve, and she slid in almost too easily. He sighed as she did it, hips making little unconscious circling movements against her, and when she put her hands on his hips, the way he always did when she was in his position, his head dropped between his shoulders, the muscles of his back shaking.

"Give it to me, Buffy." His voice was low and sounded pleased.

Buffy tried to remember how it looked when actors in movies did this, how he looked above her when he did it to her, copying the motion with her body. The first stroke was awkward, the second smoother, and he shoved into both of them just the same. "How does it feel?"

"Heavy in me," he murmured, as she picked up the pace. The metal base pushed back on her with every thrust; it shoved the vibrator harder against her every time, like it was intensifying every time she was in him. "'s why I got this one. Knew it would — angle down for me, love — knew it would feel heavy. Knew you'd _drive_ it heavy, fuck me proper."

She bit her lip and took a moment to figure out the angle, and knew she had found it when he let out a stuttering _ah-ah-ah_ noise and his body writhed against her.

"Oh," she said softly, finally seeing the point. He didn't look so scary this way — not that he had scared her for a long time — didn't look like a monster or a killer or even the sort of bad boy your mom hated for you to bring home. He looked — undone, muscles quivering, body moving in smooth desperate strokes, head hanging like he couldn't take it without gasping for air. When she reached underneath him his cock was hard and swinging, and he swore when she stroked him.

"Don't need it," he told her, and she ignored him, watching the perfect arch of his back, the dips at the base of his spine as he bent into her even further and made a strangled noise when she gave him a particularly sharp thrust. "Christ, Buffy. You're a natural."

"Um, or you're kind of a slut," she said without thinking about it, and he jerked in her hands, making a wheezing noise that she suddenly realized was laughter. "How does it feel," she asked again, ignoring him.

Spike's voice came out in a sultry sort of purr, which he usually reserved for murmuring dirty things in her ear. "Feels full. 'm all tight around it, all — fuck's sake, pet, when you do _that_ it feels like I've been hit by lightning."

Buffy did it again, and he groaned, a sound that couldn't be mistaken for anything but masculine pleasure, no matter who was fucking who. In fact, she thought, she didn't feel particularly unfeminine doing it. Just powerful, sexy, like she always did with Spike, like she could do anything to him and he would beg her for it.

"Yeah," he panted, as she fell into a steady, natural rhythm. "Oh, yeah, kitten, that's it. Fuck me. Squeeze me harder, baby, I can take it. Can take anything you can give me."

She tightened her hand around him and he made another noise, meeting her thrust for thrust, like they were dancing instead of fucking. Did she look like this when he took her, this abandoned, this compellingly sensual?

Spike was babbling now, more like he always did. "There, love, there, so thick in me, pet, wish I could see you, fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me_ , god, Buffy, bet you look like a bloody Amazon, like a goddess, love, if you stroke me just like that it'll be over."

Buffy grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back onto her as she moved forward with particular force, slamming into him to see him shake, and he came with a cry as she took a rough stroke down his shaft. He slumped to the bed, his back a smooth line from her hips to the pillow, and it took him a few moments for his muscles to stop trembling. Buffy realized, with a blink, that this was the first time he had come before her.

He realized it at the same time, apparently, wriggling off the metal dildo and rolling over, looking attractively sated and loose-limbed, except for the fact that he was frowning. "You didn't — "

"No, but I really liked it," Buffy told him, because it was the god's honest truth. "I would also like it if _you_ would fuck _me_ now."

The grin he gave her when he reached for her hips would have seduced a nun.


	8. corsetry (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hate like the next three days' worth of prompts (today's was "breast worship" which like, i have already done nipple play and body worship so... BORING) so i went looking for stuff to replace them and unfortunately for spike most of them involve him being physically or emotionally uncomfortable
> 
> anyway i kind of combined size kink and corsetry in this one and i guess it's also feminization and asphyxiation so really... i outdid myself on this, december the 9th
> 
> i didn't think this was my kink but idk maybe this is my kink because i think this is the best one i've done so far possibly??

"Isn't this what you have Dru for?" Will said, fidgeting on the edge of the bed, even as he knew it was pointless, that Angelus wouldn't answer him. He could do this with any girl. A quirk of that handsome smile and they were always falling all over themselves, and — and of course he didn't need to do this to Will, he just had a passion for showing him new things to watch his eyes widen.

Will squared his jaw. The lace-and-silk monstrosity hanging from those big square hands was not going to defeat him. He kept his expression neutral, raised one defiant brow.

"Here," Angelus told him, and tossed the thing at him. The weight of it didn't surprise him, not after having done his mum and Dru into ones just like it a thousand times. The color did, a little — Angelus liked Dru in white, and Darla chose her own colors, but this was baby blue. He looked at it for a moment, fiddling with the darker boning and furrowing his brow, wanting desperately to ask if this had been procured for him. The idea that it might have been was the only thing that made him stand up and slip it on over his head, feeling more naked even than he usually did with Angelus.

Angelus sat in the chair across from the bed and watched him with dark eyes while he did up the lacing, fingers awkward since he was used to doing it for someone else, tight but not too tight, the same way he had always done it for his girls.

The deep voice rumbled at him, "Now stay."

If there were blood enough in him he would have flushed when Angelus got out his pad of paper and a charcoal. But the embarrassment didn't stop him from obeying, staying still on his knees on the bed with the thing squeezing his waist into what had to be an unnatural shape. He could still breathe easily enough, and he caught himself doing it, like a comforting habit while Angelus sketched him.

He didn't show Will the drawing. He never did, just put it down on the chair when he was done and stalked leonine towards the bed. Will always had to sneak over to the book when he was asleep or out hunting, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to this time, to see himself crammed into this frilly thing, abashed and on his knees. Angelus ran a hand through his hair, pulling his head back to look at the bare line of his neck before he said, "Turn around."

Will did, and went to his hands and knees, and got a laugh for his trouble.

"Not for that, lad. Not yet. Up on your knees again. I want you to keep breathing."

Angelus' hands on the laces as he sat up, his fingers tracing the slope of Will's back through the silk. It would be almost gentle if it weren't for the mighty tug that came next, constricting the thing around his waist almost painfully.

"I said keep breathing, Will." Soft in his ear, deadly. Will took a breath, and felt his ribcage expand against the boning as he breathed out, slow and steady. He was getting hard, not from the corset but from the familiar presence of Angelus behind him, tall and broad and maybe about to press him down by the back of the neck and take him, still slick and open from before. The scent of him, whiskey and blood and sex.

The thing inched tighter. He could feel it hard against the ridges of his hips, forcing his waist into a thin point. He breathed in again, finding it harder this time. Another tug, and it bloody hurt, and his lungs were nearly crushed by it, taking desperate little sips of air more than he was really breathing.

"Deep," Angelus told him, sounding amused.

"I can't." And speaking made him dizzy, not quite enough air for it. He tried, though. He always tried. A shaky breath in. The thing creaked, the laces straining, and while he held it there, screwing himself up to breathe out and let the thing pinch him again, Angelus tugged again, and Will nearly fell forwards at the pressure, mouth open and silent.

"Seems you can, boy," Angelus said. "Now, again."

The air seemed to scream on the way down, and when it was there, the waist of the thing tightened again, and the air came out, but his body didn't quite release it, couldn't expand to push it out. It would make a human pass out, being laced this tight. Might break ribs, might even kill them, if it were left there long enough, unable to get any air into their lungs. But they weren't humans, and it tightened even a little more until the point where Will was wondering why the laces hadn't snapped under Angelus' strong hands, and then he felt it tied off.

The warm Irish voice seemed to be coming from very far away. "Turn over."

"I can't move, Sire," he tried to say, but he couldn't get in enough air to do it. He released the muscles in his arms, slumping to the bed, and then used an elbow and knee to roll over, lying back-down on the bed, looking up at Angelus, who should be spinning from lack of air but who wasn't, because Will was dead, he didn't _need_ the air. He hurt, and he couldn't move anything from his collarbones to his hips, but he didn't _need_ to breathe. He could endure this.

There was a sort of charmed smile on Angelus' face, and he was looking at Will almost like he was appraising a statue, nearly impassive but with a sort of mad heat glinting behind his eyes. He reached a hand down to tap on the boning laced tight over Will's stomach. The reverberation of it felt like it went through his entire body, and Will's eyes fluttered closed. "Not bad for an Englishman," he mused. "A waist that would honor a lady and it's even given you a semblance of a bust, my boy."

Glancing down, he saw it was true — the boning pressed the muscle of his chest up into scant cleavage — and wanted again to blush.

"I might draw you again."

Will shook his head and reached up, hoping that getting Angelus off — or maybe just looking sufficiently helpless and punished and at his mercy — would free him.

"Well, all right," said his grandsire, almost indulgent before he dropped the whip line. "I'll draw you after."

He let out a little plaintive wheeze, and Angelus bent to kiss him, almost the way he did Dru in the mornings, short and easy. Those hands went to his waist, stroking the wasp-curve of it, and then dropped slow and easy to the line of the corset at his hips, the sides of his legs, his knees. He was aching hard, had been since Angelus had made that final painful tug, and Angelus ignored it in favor of spreading his legs, brushing a thumb over his hole, so gentle it almost felt like being in bed with another person until he spoke.

"Have you got any room in there for me, Will?" 

He didn't. He wanted to say he didn't, but part of him wanted to see if he did. He parted his knees further in answer, and Angelus favored him with a smile like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, and for that, he would _make_ room.

The head of his cock prodded at him, and for a moment he thought better of it. Angelus was big, all of him was big, and he was forced so small right now that he hardly thought it was possible that that prick that barely fit in him when he was breathing freely might fit now. But Angelus put a little back into it, and the head slid in, feeling gigantic. Will's head fell back as he inched in further, making a low pleased noise when he was in to the hilt. "So tight you are," he said, sounding as if he'd been punched in the gut.

Will didn't think it was fair he sounded like that, when _he_ was the one with that massive battering ram up inside him, feeling almost impossibly big as he started to thrust, his strokes pushing any air that was left inside him out. He wound his arms around Angelus' shoulders and for once Angelus let him do it, let him cling to his body as he pushed in, his own cock rubbing between Angelus' belly and the rough lace of the corset. Not that he needed it, not really, with Angelus touching everything inside him all at once, so huge in him that it was good every minute, even as it hurt.

"Tighter than a virgin," he said harshly in Will's ear, breath cool against him. "Strangling my prick, boy, like you were meant to. Lying still and thinking of England, are you?"

He shook his head, and Angelus rewarded him by reaching between them and stroking him.

"Can't move, can you, Will? But you want to. Want to get me to fuck you harder."

Not really, he liked being held like this, but Will nodded.

The next thrust was sharp, and if his back could have bowed, it would have. Instead he just tried to beg, and nothing came out of his mouth. Angelus laughed at him, gave him another thrust and tugged at his cock and kissed his throat. When he came, he felt almost as if he were tearing as his body clamped down, going impossibly tighter, and Angelus groaned and sheathed himself, growing and twitching inside him as he finished, swearing floridly in Gaelic.

When he lifted himself, Will tried to keep him there, but this time, Angelus shook off his arms, withdrawing and leaving him feeling, somehow, empty, even though he was still too constricted to breathe. There was cool seed dripping from him, and laid over the fine blue silk where he had spilled. Angelus looked at him appraisingly, limp and aching, and smiled.

"Now, stay," he said again, and retreated to his chair to pick the sketchpad back up.


	9. strangers (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you believe the prompt for today was "hand jobs"? who wrote this list which i willingly chose and am now being scornful of. anyway this isn't my kink because i don't actually think this is a kink but i wanted to write it anyway because it's easily one of my favorite kinds of smutfics and i wanted to try my hand.

Spike had been watching the girl for fifteen minutes.

It wasn't normally his bag, staring at one bird in a bar, particularly not when she was dancing with someone else — not unless he was planning to eat her, at least — but she'd caught his eye when he'd come in, wearing a shiny red dress that was short as hell and practically backless except for the insubstantial little straps that were holding it together. Golden skin, no tan line from her bra, which meant he could think about her laid out in the sun naked, oil on her back.

The bloke she was dancing with was about a foot taller than her and too gangly to suit her, all neck and limbs, but she was spinning at the end of his arm like she was having a grand old time, her blonde hair swinging with her graceful movements, flashing pink under the lights, the shiny gold heels of her shoes slicing through the air with a brilliant glint.

She had a good little body under there, not that the dress was hiding it at all. Compact. Slim waist, pretty hips. Nice, tight arse. Nice, tight legs. High little breasts — she couldn't possibly be wearing a bra under that thing, but they were perky as hell anyhow, nipples almost showing through the dress. Bright red lips. Big green eyes, black-rimmed and smoky. The kind of girl he'd like to eat. Kind of girl he'd like to fuck.

She switched partners to a dark, curvy girl wearing a black dress to match hers, and he grinned when they started laughing together. "Give me a Sam Adams, mate. Capped," he said, tapping the bar, and the bartender slid it over, raising an eyebrow at him as he took it and wandered out onto the floor, weaving through the sweating bodies — smelling drugs, sex, booze, perfume — towards the place where the girls were dancing, the girl he'd been watching standing behind the other one with her hands on her hips. Spike slid in in front of the girl in the black dress, and when she smiled at him, he put his free hand on her waist, sandwiching her between their bodies and glancing back at the blonde over her shoulder.

The girl was watching him back, and he raised his eyebrows, then popped the bottle open on his teeth and handed it under the arm of the body between them to her, the cap held in his mouth, smiling as if to say _roofie free_.

She rolled her eyes and he put his hand back on the waist of the girl between them, hands just inches above hers, and when she threw back her head to drink the beer, he caught a look at the golden crucifix hanging between her breasts and laughed. There were lips on his collarbone, breasts crushed against his chest, and he lifted the other girl by the waist and spun her to the side, away from the blonde, and handed her off to some other bloke, ignoring her when she pouted.

Then there was a little warm hand in his jeans back pocket, pulling him in, and grinning, he went, winding up chest to chest with the girl he'd been watching. "Anne," she yelled over the music, pointing the neck of the beer at herself.

He spit out the beer cap and leaned in to her and put his lips against her ear, twining an arm around her waist to drag her into a dance with no buffer this time. "Will," he told her, without feeling even a twinge of guilt for the lie.

"I saw you watching me, Will," she said, still yelling. "It took you long enough to make a move!"

Spike notched his voice down to a pitch that made her shiver and contradicted his next words perfectly. "I'm shy." His hands on her waist crept lower.

Her hand in his back pocket squeezed his arse. "Well, I'm not."

He laughed again and ground his hips into her. "No, pet, you aren't. You here alone?"

"Yeah, my boyfriend is no fun," Anne said, and Spike's brow twitched, which made her giggle. "He's older, this isn't really his scene."

For a girl with a boyfriend, she was seeming bloody happy to let him get hard against her stomach. She had to be feeling it through the denim, through the paper-thin red dress, the same way he could feel the muscles of her abdomen moving against him. "That so?"

"You wanna keep me warm for him?"

Spike let loose a soft growl, grazing his teeth against the shell of her ear, and she giggled into his collarbone. "What if I get you hot instead?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck when he bent to kiss her. The beer bottle tapped against the back of the leather jacket he was wearing, and she tasted like Sam Adams and strawberry lip gloss. He wasn't sure quite why, but something about the girly scent of it made him want to erase other men from her memory, and he deepened the kiss until she was clinging to his shoulders and leaning sweetly against him. "Oh," she said, cheeks pink, eyes shining, when he let her go, her lips swelling and his own surely bearing the marks of her lipstick. He licked the taste of gloss off his own lips and let her wriggle against him, warm and pliant and aroused, from the scent coming off her. "You're a good kisser."

"Not so bad yourself, love," he said, a wide grin on his lips that made her grip his shoulders a little tighter as she looked him up and down. He knew he looked bloody good, black button-down half-open over his chest under a black leather jacket and jeans that made his arse look even more incredible than it actually was, but he thought she was mostly focused on his mouth.

He kissed her again, and she whimpered into it. "Shame you've got a bloke," he murmured against her mouth, and then released her, her warmth leaving him so fast that he missed it immediately. Her mouth fell open, indignant, and her eyes flashed. He tossed her a smile and shrugged one shoulder. "Would've loved to shag a bird like you silly in the back alley."

Spike turned on his heel and started to wend his way back towards the bar, leaving her standing there in the flashing pink lights.

There was a warm little hand around his wrist before he made it there, and when he turned back Anne was standing there, the backlighting outlining her silhouette through the dress good and proper, showing off her tight curves. Strong arms. Strong hands. She'd ditched the beer for a determined expression. "I _said_ , what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Trust me, love, you do this, he's going to know. Because you're going to come home smelling like a good hard fuck, wet between the thighs from me and walking funny, with my bruises on your throat and arse. Ruined for other pricks than mine. You're not going to be able to lie still under some other chap and let him stick you a couple of times and forget to get you off, not once I've had you." She swayed towards him, making a soft noise in the back of her throat. He grinned, and went for the finishing challenge. "So, what d'you say, pet? You want me to rail you good and proper, or d'you want to be a good girl?"

Her lower lip stuck out. He wanted to bite it. "I'm not a good girl."

He led her out of the bar, and she jumped into his arms the second the door slammed shut behind them. Out of the flashing lights and under the moon, out of the room full of sweating, drunk idiots, he could see the glittering gold dust on her eyelids, smell the sweetness of vanilla perfume she had smeared between her breasts. He kissed her up against the brick wall, her arms wrapping around his neck again, and when she was gasping into his mouth and he was pretending he needed to breathe, too, he asked, "Tell me how you like it."

"Hard," Anne's voice was hesitant, for a moment, but then she seemed to remember she wasn't shy and continued, all in a rush. "I want you to pick me up and hold me against the wall and push up my skirt and fuck me. _Hard_."

"You wearing anything under that?" he drawled, and purred at her when she shook her head, putting his hands on her legs and dragging them upwards, taking the skimpy red scrap she was wearing with them. She was shaved under it, and pink and pretty and glistening wet, and he wanted to put his tongue in her so badly he nearly fell to his knees and blocked everything out but the wet heat of her on his lips.

But he had a request from the lady to honor, so when he had it up around her waist, he lifted her (so easy, so light she was, so small in his hands) and let her wrap her legs around his hips as he kissed her, pulling himself out of his jeans and bringing himself brushing up against her where she was slick and open and her legs were spread around him. He was a breath away from pushing home when she pulled away from his mouth and said with wide, innocent eyes — "Oh, wait! Do you have a condom?"

Spike blinked at her, and groaned. _I am a bloody vampire and I cannot impregnate you or give you chlamydia_ , he did not say. "No, but I'll bet you do," he muttered, and she fumbled for one in her purse as he was holding her up, handing it over to let him tear it open with his teeth and roll it down his length with an unpracticed hand. When it was on, he lined up again and sank her down on him, hot and silky and just a little bit distant through the stupid bloody barrier.

She was still so wet he slid in easy, smelling like heat and sex, and he sank his teeth, blunt and human, into the base of her throat as if he could scruff her like a fledge, hold her still as he plunged up into her. She was too strong for that hold, though, writhed against him, her cunt so tight around him he could swear it had him seeing stars. He didn't bother with fingers on her clit, not with how it rubbed against his pubic bone when he drilled up into her, hard and sweet and wet where it sat on top of the place where she was split on him. And she was crying out, anyhow, with every thrust, screaming towards the stars while he fucked her. He'd never met a girl who was such a screamer, who was so bloody passionate he was almost on fire with the clutch of her on his prick, panting into her throat like a human, fingers bruising her sweet arse as he used his grip there to jack her up and down him like a doll, one side of her top falling down as one of the straps across her back apparently snagged on the brick and snapped.

It was just barely covering her breast still, and he bent his head to kiss it, hoisting her up further against him so she was nearly sitting on his hips, arching her back up into him, up against him, grinding against his prick. She was sobbing into his shoulder, almost, half-word cries of his name spilling out into the night. If anyone was passing the alley back here, they probably thought he was either killing the girl, or paying her to fake it. Hell, they might even be hearing them in the club, and he could tell her right now, if they came out to see what was happening back here, he wasn't stopping. Couldn't stop.

Not when the grip of her around him was like a vice, her hands clawing at the leather on his back, tearing it with her shiny gold nails, maybe, if the sound was anything to go by. What a girl. What a sodding wildcat. If he had to let her go at the end of the night, let her walk off all bowlegged and dripping to go to some other bloke's bed, he'd be wanting for the taste of her cunt until the day he died.

It rippled around him, and he gasped into her breast, jerking up into her and bouncing her on him as he started to come, pinching at her clit to send her over with him, shaking and scratching him as he shot inside her. Or, well, inside the bloody condom. For a few minutes they kissed messily while she contracted around him, so hard it nearly bloody hurt, and then he lifted her off him, groaning at the loss of her warmth on his prick.

He set her down, and she wobbled on the strappy little heels, and his hand shot out to catch her arm.

The pretense slipped away, and Buffy took in a deep breath, wriggling her dress back down and running a hand through her messy, just-been-fucked hair. Spike bit her lightly with his blunt teeth, helping her straighten the hemline of her crumpled dress when he pulled back from her. "A _condom_? I bloody hate you, Slayer."

Buffy laughed, and kissed him. "It was realistic. And you love me."

"Love you _more_ without a condom," he grumbled. "And the _boyfriend_?"

"Whose 'prick' I am now supposedly 'ruined' for!"

"Better not be," he growled, and reached for her waist.


	10. aphrodisiacs (sprusilla)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't love this prompt but it doesn't actively bore me or make me want to gag so i'm doing it anyway. while i feel like spike and drusilla would absolutely take aphrodisiacs recreationally, i thought this would be more fun to write. my first thought was actually anya and xander but i see that more as an episode waiting to happen than a smutfic, because you just KNOW it would go wrong for xander

Nikki Wood's blood was hot in his veins, and when he stepped off the subway train and jogged up the steps to the street above, her coat swirling around his knees — smelling like leather and jojoba oil and Slayer — he wanted to howl at the moon over New York. He had thought about leaving her untouched except for the broken vertebrae, as a sign of respect for her fight (Christ, what a fight) but had been unable, in the end, to restrain himself from tasting her. He hadn't even near-drained her, just taken enough to have her be part of him, like the last girl. Like the next girl would be.

Slayer blood was something better than drugs. Clarifying, invigorating, like a shot of heroin that didn't do your head in, just made you feel like there was pure power jolting through you. Not to be passed up, and he could feel it healing the bruises of their fight even as he was sauntering home to Dru.

He wanted to run, to be home to her sooner, but it was beneath his dignity to be seen jogging home like a henpecked husband, getting back before the missus got mad that he'd been out drinking late again. He wanted to kill something. A hundred things, the world. Wanted to fuck his girl until she couldn't take him without whimpering. He adjusted himself in his trousers, grunting. Shit, he was hard as nails. Had been after the girl in China too. And Dru had welcomed him into her arms then, the conquering killer, had wrapped her sweet body tight around him and shagged him right there. Angelus and Darla had only been able to put a so much of a damper on it; the two of them, him and Dru, had gone at it like rabbits up until Angelus had fucked off and made her sad, and he was hoping for more of the same this time. Hopefully without _daddy_ fucking everything up.

If he quickened his step that wouldn't count as running.

He bounded into the apartment they were living in with the high of it still running in him, and roared for her right away. "Dru! Dru!" The fledgelings at the door scarpered as soon as he returned — clever things, or at least as clever as a couple of idiot minions could be. He didn't much give a shit if they were there, but one eye or noise out of line and he could kill them as soon as glance at them, and stay hard afterwards.

She appeared at the end of the hall, pale and slim and wearing a lacy black dress and bare feet, with a smile on her red lips and her hair flowing silky down her back, and held out her leather-and-silver-wrapped arms for him to run into. He took her by the corset cinched tight around her waist and lifted her up into his arms, and she giggled and wrapped her arms and legs around him, the ragged gauzy skirt she was wearing tearing a little at her careless motion. "My prince has slain the dragon," she said, and then he kissed her, realizing he was nearly desperate for her body on his, shaking with the blood rushing through him. Dru never had much finesse on the best days, but he usually wasn't so sloppy when he kissed her.

"Dragon's slain the knight, more like," he growled, tearing their mouths apart and carrying her to the bedroom with speed that would have looked desperate, if the minions had seen it. "And's taken the armor and's fucking the princess."

He threw her down on the bed and fumbled at his fly. It tore under his fingers and he didn't bother to fix it, just grabbed his cock out, almost purple with want, and gave it a hard stroke.

"Sorry, sugarplum, I need — " he told her, and fell on her, shoving her dress up and entering her in a thrust without preamble. She cooed in welcome, and he almost popped just then, at the soft grip of her surrounding him, tight and not as ready as he usually got her. Groaned instead, a deep wanting thing, fucked her deep and hard until she was squealing under him. " — ah, need you, precious, need you."

"And I need you," she purred, and stroked his hair until he felt the sharpness of her nails on the back of his neck and she struck like a snake, pulling him down to fasten her fangs into his neck. He burst as soon as she pulled some of that hot new blood out of him, jackhammering wildly into her and never losing his hard-on even after he had spilled.

There was blood on her face when she pulled back, licking her lips, his blood — his and the Slayer's — and she wriggled under him with pleasure as he surged into her again.

His hands tore the corset away from her like paper, the dress like air, and then she was lying in the black scraps, naked but for the jewelry still clinging to her arms, to her throat, and singing like a canary while he fucked her. Their bodies were fused so close that he felt they might be merging into one, draped under this leather coat that was about to smell like leather and jojoba oil and Slayer and sex, his cock hanging out of the torn front of his trousers and muscles leaping with Nikki Wood's lifeblood, with her incredible sodding power, her killer's essence.

The blood was affecting Dru now too, getting her so wet she was dripping with it, and he could think of her laughing cries and his own desperate growling as the sounds of a night creature who was conquered by her mate, or as the sounds of a sire glorying in the achievement of a childe, but they weren't the noises of a man and woman, not now, no matter the faces either of them were wearing.

This was monsters celebrating a kill, blood shared between them, her hands tugging violently on his hair when she shuddered under him and came. She didn't have a second of mercy from him; he fucked her through the spasms and then kept fucking her while she twitched with the sweet pain of pleasure gone on too long before her body started to cooperate again, tightening back up around him and beginning to make little begging, whining noises.

He usually touched her more. Kissed her more, gave her more care. Gave her three or so ends for every one of his when he could manage it, ate her and fingerfucked her and rubbed her clit so's she would shriek and writhe and pray afterwards with stars in her eyes. But at the moment, all he could care about was being inside her. And she lay there and took it like she'd never had it so good, like the Lord God Him-bloody-self was entering her body and planting his claim in her, his seed and his prick. Arching with the joy of being taken, the Ecstasy of Santa Teresa made flesh.

All of a sudden she had him by the jaw and was looking with her luminous eyes deep into the depths of him, and he gasped and finished again and willed himself to keep working in her, to drop his hand to touch her as she said to him, in the tone of an Oracle, "Not your last, my prince."

Not his last Slayer. Not his last orgasm, or maybe not hers. She could mean a thousand things but he kissed her fiercely and panted, "But _you_ are, love. The first and the last."

She had gone dreamy again under him, meeting his little grinding thrusts as he worked himself back up to have her again, her cunt slippery under his fingers when he rubbed at the place where he stretched her, at the slick little nub crowning it until it twitched and tightened under his ministrations.

Without Angelus to ruin everything, the Slayer-high lasted well into the late hours of the morning.


	11. sleepy (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i replaced bukakke with this because i flatly refuse to look up what bukakke means. please don't anyone tell me

Buffy stirred, and opened her eyes blearily, with no idea of how long she had been asleep. There was a pile of clothing on the floor in the bathroom just in her line of sight, dripping with yellow slime, and the curtains were shut tight against any sun that might tell her what time it was. They had fallen into bed, exhausted from the fight, after a shower that had been more perfunctory than sensual despite Spike's best efforts, at some time around six in the morning, so it was probably afternoon. She was warm, the down comforter that Spike had insisted on keeping her heat trapped in around her, and when she poked her nose out of the nest of the bed, the air was cold on her face.

Fucking Canada. She yanked the covers back up over her head and pulled Spike's hand, which was resting loosely on her leg, to drape over her waist, and without waking, he took the hint and plastered himself over her back, burying his nose in her hair and laying his hand possessively over her stomach. He was warm from her body heat, and breathing softly against the back of her neck, and if it weren't for the fact that she couldn't feel his heartbeat where his chest was pressed against her back, she could almost forget he wasn't a man.

She closed her eyes and let sleep suck her back under, and when she woke again, it was because he was humming softly to her, so quiet it was nearly a purr except for the lazy tune of it. _I used to sing to Dru_ , he'd told her once. _To calm her down or put her to sleep and sometimes just because she liked to hear it._

Buffy turned her head, half-awake, to glance over her shoulder at him, and he gave her a sleepy grin and laid his cheek against her back. His hair was wild from drying against the pillow and when she laughed at him he bit her shoulder lightly. She wriggled back against him to feel the familiar shape of his body against her: jutting collarbone, hard chest, sharp hips. Half-hard cock poking her in the leg. They'd gone to sleep naked and still wet from the shower. "What time is it?" she whispered.

"Gonna be dusk in an hour or four. Go back to sleep, love."

"Keep singing."

She got another hour or so of sleep that way, and this time woke up on her own. From the stillness behind her, he had fallen asleep again, his mouth a little open against the top knob of her spine. When she tried to slip out from under his arm, he grumbled at her and pulled her back, and when she turned her head to look at him again, he was bleary-eyed and loose-limbed and just grunted when she rubbed her ass back against him, trying to wake him up.

Before long he was awake enough to be rocking against her, cock pushing languorously between her thighs, and she had lost the will to get out of bed. His mouth was pressed against the back of her neck, and his fingers were slowly circling lower on her stomach until they were stroking lightly through her pubic hair, not quite touching her where she wanted to be touched.

For once, he wasn't speaking, just mouthing at the knobs of her spine. With the covers over their heads, it was a little like being in a world all by themselves, where she was just a girl who wanted him, and he was just a boy who was easing into her, slow and precious, and she sighed and let her eyes flutter shut. The stretch was so familiar now, without any of his fancy tricks to shock her, that having him seated there felt — 

"Like coming home," he murmured against the back of her neck, and for a moment that felt eternal, he stayed there, buried to the root. His hand was still settled over the space between her hips, and — she realized — the other arm was trapped under her pillow. If he had circulation, it would have gone dead, but that was one of the many advantages of sleeping with a vampire.

"Start moving or I will, mister," she told him quietly, and he chuckled.

"Do your worst, pet."

Buffy started rolling her hips, and he made soft encouraging noises against her hair, thumb rubbing almost absently across the space just below her navel. The air under the covers got hot with Buffy's breath as she squeezed around him, just enough to work herself up, but in this position she needed more stimulation. She dragged his hand down with a little _hmm_ noise, and his fingers obligingly slipped against her clit while their hips worked together, barely moving, just enough to drag him inside her just so. "Tell me — "

"Love you, Buffy." His voice was so soft in her ear that if he were a breath further away she wouldn't hear it, his fingers stroking at her, too soft to make her come, almost a tickle. "Always love you."

"I love you too."

Spike twitched inside her. He always did; when they were in the middle of fucking it made him wild to hear her say it. This was making love, though, and so he just moaned into the curve of her neck, pulling her down against him as he was rolling his hips so that he'd be hitting her just right with every languid stroke, the heel of his hand kneading at the space between her hips like he could feel himself there under her skin, tucked inside her. His two middle fingers were petting her, teasing that little nub until she could swear it was throbbing under his touch. "Stay with me," he whispered to her when she whimpered in complaint. "Stay just here a little longer, Buffy."

She still felt half-asleep, as if they were moving in a dream, warm and and alive and covered by a white down comforter while she pressed back against him and he moved inside her, his two (evil) fingers still playing her like a piano. His torso was all up against hers, his chin hooked over her shoulder while he mouthed at the side of her neck — vampire thing? Maybe, but probably just a Spike thing — "Spike," she asked him. "'m I dreaming?"

This time the noise he gave her really was just a purr, plain and simple. At his core, he could still be gotten just like any other man — with an implied or explicit acknowledgement of his sexual prowess. "If you are, wouldn't want to go waking up, would you, love?"

It was a pretty good dream, if so. The sort of nice, normal morning the Slayer wasn't supposed to have. Well-rested. Hot naked guy working his cute little washboard abs to fuck her in long, rolling motions, whispering love into her ear and massaging her with his fingers right where she needed it. _Good morning, Buffy_. Okay, it was afternoon getting on into evening, but still. "Not really."

He rewarded her for telling him what he wanted to hear by rubbing her with more purpose, hips still slow and steady as the heat between her legs built to a fever pitch, her body contracting around him. "There's a good girl," he crooned, like he was trying to push her over the edge with just the rumble of his voice. "Give it up to me, Buffy. Easy-like."

Spike was fond of throwing her into orgasm like a car crash, because he said he liked the way she screamed. This was more like being washed up on the beach; a slow strong push that made her quiver instead of seizing when his fingers stroked her just so. To her surprise, he didn't try to draw it out like usual, just let go and filled her, his breath shuddering against her neck.

He stayed in her afterwards, kissing her shoulders, hand resting limp between her legs at the place where they were joined. Their breath was the only sound under the covers.

"Morning," he said after a few moments, sounding amused. "Want a bit of a kip?"

Buffy thought about it, and shook her head, turning her head to look at him. "I'm hungry, actually."

He propped himself up on his elbow and grinned at her, his hair making him look young and mischievous. "There's my girl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maggielafey wanted very fluffy sex so here it is folks. while i want to say hallelujah is more of a buffy/angel song given how melodramatic and biblical it is, the line "remember when i moved in you / and the holy dove was moving too / and every breath we drew / was hallelujah" really was what was givin' me the feels for this fic


	12. body swap (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's the funny thing about this fic: every time i update it i lose subscribers but y'all do click on it like crazy so i guess that's the marvel and pacrim people leaving

"Buffy, love." Buffy stirred, annoyed. It couldn't possibly be time to be awake. It felt like it was just starting to get late. "Buffy. Oy!"

"Shut up, Spike."

A sigh. A pause. Then the scent of something amazing filled the room, and Buffy sat upright so fast that she almost fell out of bed, feeling savage and needy, her face shifting queerly as she whipped around to look for it. Green eyes were staring back at her, and under them, one pink lip was bitten and bleeding. She hardly registered anything else.

Then her own body flicked her in the forehead, and she bent forward, drawn inexorably by the drops of red — wait. She blinked and sat back. "Is — ?"

She watched in horror as her own mouth twisted into a wicked grin, her left eyebrow lifting. "Yes, pet, as something of an expert on your body, this is it."

Looking down, she saw nothing but pale skin. Spike slept nude, and she could see the familiar jut of his hipbones, the defined line down the center of his body. "Oh my god," she said. It came out sounding funny, too deep and too sharp, and she touched her mouth. It was full of fangs, and she jerked her hand back. "Why am I — why are you — ?"

The voice that answered her was hers, the same pitch and timbre, but, she noticed, still unfamiliar, keeping Spike's dropped letters and lazy cadence. "Reckon we probably messed with something nasty last night by mistake. Seems the most logical sort of explanation."

"Oh my god." She looked under the sheet. "Oh my god —"

"Well, you've seen that before," he replied, sounding amused. "Though I've never seen me with the game face on, so give us a show, yeah?"

Buffy's hands touched her face again. Or — she used Spike's hands to touch Spike's face? She was rapidly starting to hate this. "How do I get rid of it?"

"Really don't look bad, honestly," Spike said, contemplatively, and licked the blood off his lip. (Her lip?) "My roots're starting to grow out, though. Better fix that later."

"Why are you so calm about this? I would have thought you'd be all Mr. Wiggins about losing Little Spike."

Her body shrugged. She hadn't known it was possible for her to look so devil-may-care. "Well, he's right there, isn't he? Right where he ought to be. And not so little. Plus, I've already tossed off, so I'm feeling very relaxed about the world."

"You what?"

"Try it, it's fun," Spike said, unrepentant. "Now I've experienced the female orgasm I think you ought to thank me more often for giving you so many."

"You sound like Anya," she muttered, and peeked under the sheet again. "Oh, this is so weird."

"Liked it just fine last night, Slayer."

"Yeah, when it was attached to you!"

"Seem to recall a bit of attachment to you as well. Hey, I've got an idea. Want a suckjob?"

Buffy blinked. "I — what?"

"Come on, I've done it before, you've done it before. Nothing new under the sun except you get to feel how bloody gorgeous it is to have that trapped in here." Spike pointed to her crotch and then his neck, attracting Buffy's attention to the warm pulse that was beating there.

" — do I always smell like that?"

"Oh. Nah, you'll smell a bit sexy at the moment since I fingered you. Also, open wound. Worked like a charm waking you up, I've got to say."

Buffy touched her face again and felt the fangs and bumpies, frowning and trying to will them away. They went nowhere. "How do you not bite me all the time? I feel so hungry."

"I'm a paragon of self-control," he told her, and she snickered, the laugh familiar but coming from the wrong mouth. "Plus, eating pig all the time, I'm always hungry. You get used to it."

She thought for a moment. "Can I bite you?"

"No. Because you aren't going to know how to stop, and I'd rather this body of yours doesn't kick the bucket. I'm fond of it. Now, lay back and let me make you feel good, pet." He paused, and then made an expression she had practiced a thousand times in the mirror as a teenager, a sort of kittenish bite-your-lip grin that, she was gratified to see, was just as cute in person as it was in the mirror. He broke it and wrinkled his nose. Her nose? "Christ, that feels ridiculous."

His hand landed in the middle of her chest and he shoved her back onto the pillow. For the first time, she realized what it was like to have Slayer strength turned on you when you weren't a Slayer yourself. It was strange — her own hand looked so small in the center of his chest, and yet it exerted pressure she was sure she couldn't resist even though she hadn't tried out this body's full strength yet. Did she look this little to him, as little as he looked now crawling up her body to kiss her? A curtain of golden hair fell down around her face and the smell of it caught in her throat, dizzyingly perfect. His lips were hot. Was she always so hot to him?

"Aw, look at that," Spike said. "Pavlov's prick."

There was a sort of tingling, tightening sensation between her legs, and when she looked down at his cock again, she saw it slowly filling. She was amused to see that from this angle, it looked bigger. No wonder men always had an inflated sense of self. It was different from her own reaction; instead of closing around emptiness it ached. "Um — I want to try — "

Spike made innocent eyes at her, which were a thousand times more convincing on her own face than on his, or they would be if she didn't know exactly how innocent he wasn't. "Fourth base so fast?"

She put her hands on his hips, and felt a little thrill to see how small her waist looked like this. She could swear that she never looked so fragile in the mirror, but in his hands she seemed delicate, feminine. Like she couldn't throw a grown man halfway across a baseball diamond. In Angel's hands she must have looked tiny.

"Quit thinking about Detective Wanker," he told her, eyes narrowed. "Or I'm going to briefly consider not doing _this_."

When he tossed the covers aside and tried to sink down on her, he almost got the angle wrong and they both winced before he adjusted. Buffy gasped at the feeling of it, tight and hot on the nerves she wasn't supposed to have. When she looked up, she was surprised to see herself with her head hanging back, mouth a little open, eyes shut and fluttering like there was something inside him crawling to get out. She was beautiful like that, she thought with a little wonder. Really beautiful. He was always telling her that, but she had assumed it was just something men said to you in bed.

When he opened her eyes, hazy green, she realized she wasn't breathing. Didn't have to, because the body she was in was dead. He raised one of her eyebrows, then smirked, and then looked as if he were concentrating for a moment, thighs jumping and then — "Ha!" he said, as the hold around her tightened like a vice, balancing right on the tipping edge of being too much. "Got it — "

Buffy felt herself come — a weird feeling, like a twitching sort of rush, like she was emptying herself out into him — when he ramped up the pressure, looking extraordinarily proud of himself. "Oh my god," she said, when he started to ride her. It felt good for a moment, then too much, too much. Oh, it hurt. Did it always hurt him, to keep going? Did it always feel so good? Her barely-softening cock was hardening again, and she watched the bounce of her own breasts. Those, actually, were kind of beautiful too. She trailed her hands up his sides to reach them and tweaked the nipples, the way he did. The way she liked.

He shrieked in her voice, and then started laughing, which made the walls ripple around her in a way that made her see stars. "Used to having a different sweet spot," he grumbled, when the mirth had passed and he was grinding his hips down on her, like he was looking for something. "Gonna just — "

He leaned back a little and the pressure changed and suddenly Buffy was watching herself writhe, the same way he always did whenever she put a finger or a toy in him. She couldn't quite explain it, but the movement didn't look right on her body. Too hedonistic, her hands clinging to his shoulders so hard that it hurt, so hard that she knew she would be giving him this body back bruised, and he would be giving hers back wrung out. "I'm going to touch you. Me. Whatever."

"Buffy," Spike panted, when she did it, wondering at how hot her clit was under his fingers, how she could practically feel the blood throbbing in it, engorging it. "Oh, love. I fill you up good, don't I?"

"I don't think I ever actually got it when you said I was tight," she replied. She could feel herself twitching and growing in — in herself, she guessed — and if Spike was always this sensitive, it was a wonder he didn't come the second he got in her most days.

"Liked that, did you?" His impish expression on her face made her look bizarrely adorable. "Me too. Clenching around me, Slayer, squeezing me hard, so good it almost hurts."

"Stop saying that stuff in my voice. It's embarrassing."

"Throw me down and fuck me proper and I'll consider it."

His body moved so much faster than she was used to, when she rolled them over, him whooping with glee as she trapped him beneath her. He cried out when she slammed into him, as hard as his body would let her, and clung to her with nails digging into her back. A few more times and Spike was almost crying under her, and then her body was arching underneath her, clamping down so powerfully she thought it was going to push his cock out. At the overwhelming sensation, she found his body pumped itself dry almost automatically, without her say-so, without any build-up or warning, just _slam_ over the edge, like she was being punched in the gut.

After a few long moments, panting together — she could taste the morning breath on herself, and his eyes were closed like he had passed out — she pulled out, which made him wince, and then flopped onto the bed next to him. "So, um, how are we going to fix this?" she asked, lying flat on her back, glancing at him beside her, looking like he had melted into a liquid.

"Dunno, but I could go for another round. Want me to show you how to eat pussy?"

She reached out and smacked him half-heartedly.

"Ooh, Daddy, hit me harder," he said, tone mocking.

This time she punched him in the shoulder in earnest.


	13. biting (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wouldn't do this one because boring, but vampires, so i had to. this one was actually remarkably hard for me to write for some reason? i stopped and started it several times, like got 1k in each time and then was like ugh, whatever and started over. i'll throw my favorite line from those into the end notes since i'm probably not going to get to reuse it

The first time Spike had bitten Angelus without permission he'd been beaten bloody for his troubles, but first he'd gotten that broad Irish smile and a rough hand on his prick. That was Angelus, all right. You never knew if a smile meant approval, or that you were going to get it in the gut when you least expected it. Angel was a little more predictable, in that he didn't smile and he preferred the face to the gut when he was punching you.

Also, when you bit him, he moaned.

Spike laughed, then licked the taste of family off his teeth, cool and clinging, while Angel crushed him against the bed and drove into him. Big fucking bloke, to be able to press him down like this. Big fucking shoulders eclipsing his view. Big fucking cock stirring his guts until he wasn't laughing anymore.

"Do it again," Angel growled at him.

"Kinky," Spike said cheerfully, and latched onto the space between Angel's shoulder and his neck with his human teeth before he shifted, the points of the fangs growing into him. He so rarely got to bite anything alive anymore, and while Angel wasn't technically alive, his skin still split around the points of his fangs just dandy, and there was still blood running in his veins — thicker than human, maybe, slower and less eager, but. Well, Christ. It felt good, vampirism original flavor, and he clawed down that muscled back as he tightened the pinch of his teeth.

Angel just plowed him harder. He withdrew his fangs, shifting back, and wriggled backwards into the pressure, flexing his thighs like he could pull Angel somehow further into him. Like the great sod would settle for anything less than balls deep. "Hey, if you stick your prick in me — ah, that's good — and I stick my teeth in you, is — _Angelus_! — is that the vampire equivalent of the good old sixty-nine?"

Angel made a noise that was caught halfway between annoyance and urgency, but Spike knew he was laughing on the inside. Deep down in his pansy soul. "Shut up."

Spike started laughing again, high and almost hysterical, and then sunk his teeth into Angel's throat, clinging to him — big fucking shoulders running with red now, neat little semicircle toothmarks bleeding onto Spike's chest — as Angel pressed him down into the bed, like an anvil on his chest, making him feel fucking surrounded as the mattress gave under him. Vampire strength: marvelous. Angel could probably drive him right through the thing, and it felt like he was trying to.

Good thing with a prick like that you couldn't miss any spot in a ten-block radius of where you wanted to hit, because the idiot wasn't putting an ounce of bloody finesse into it, he was just going for it, wild like an animal, snarling while Spike sucked at the wound.

Made him feel stronger than pig blood did, even if it didn't heat him the same. He knew Angel had to be getting dizzy right about now, but you couldn't tell from the way he was panting and fucking Spike like he was trying to break him open.

He took his teeth out and got him around the collarbone this time, hitting bone. almost immediately and making Angel howl.

Good job they'd never fucked like this when he'd been a fledge, or everyone in Europe would know Angelus was bent like a paperclip. Spike would lay good money that people in the floors below them could hear him roaring.

"Will — " he groaned, and Spike released him, bared his fangs covered in red.

"Don't call me that." Again, teeth into his pectoral muscle. And wasn't that a thing of beauty? Broad chest, this one. Broad ribs, waist heavy with muscle. He was the only thing Spike had ever fucked who'd made him feel small or weak, but _he_ was the one in charge now, even if it was his arse open around the Mick's cock.

" _Spike_ ," Angel told him, as if he was about to pass out, and finally, finally, bright pain at the side of Spike's throat as his grandsire's teeth sunk in, and then the heady sucking pull of being fed from. He shot off so hard it nearly went to his chin, prick caught between their stomachs, hole clenching down while Angel drove forward one last time and stopped, spilling inside him. He was gasping into Spike's neck, cold air ghosting over the open wound when he shifted back to his human face.

Instead of rolling off he let his weight down onto Spike, smearing his spend between them and making the hinges of his hips ache with how wide they had to spread to accommodate him. "I love it when you get all adventurous, Peaches. We ought to do that more often. I bite you, you bite me — "

" _That's_ the vampire equivalent of sixty-nining," Angel muttered, voice muffled against Spike's shoulder.

Spike snorted, and shoved him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Like you mean it, you nancy bastard," Spike snarled, rolling out his shoulders and shaking Angel's blood off his fist. "I'll whip that fat arse of yours again faster'n you can say Buffy save me unless you start giving it to me good."


	14. lingerie (fuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the only thing better than one girl wearing hot underwear is two girls wearing hot underwear. faith wouldn't stop being a massive dork though so lmfao

"Ha!" Faith's grin would be more at home on a vampire spotting a meal. "So I'm not the only one who wore nice underwear for the occasion. Are we sluts, or what?"

Buffy, who was shimmying out of her pants, thought briefly about being embarrassed but then decided that this was the entire point of wearing this, the look Faith was giving her now as she finished getting rid of her clothes. She had spent enough time at the changing room mirror trying to decide if she felt sexy enough to know the view Faith was getting. Baby pink lace covering her chest, her stomach, and her pussy, all strapped together with white, drawing in the top curves of her breasts, the circumference of her thighs. If not for the fact that it was see-through, it would almost be less revealing than some of the outfits she had worn in high school. That was the allure of it, she had thought, standing before the mirror. You could see everything and nothing all at once, and the straps of it pulled her breasts up high to form a little cleavage.

"We're getting _laid_ , B!" Faith crowed, and stripped off her own shirt to reveal nothing but black straps, one running down her belly to connect the low front of her bra to her panties, others snaking around her breasts and hips like they were binding her in. The whole thing looked complicated and fragile, and Buffy realized after a few moments that she was staring.

Wait, that was the _point_. She reached out and grabbed Faith by that middle strap and hauled her forward before she could finish getting out of her pants. It was strong enough not to break — which was _definitely_ not true of Buffy's panties: most definitely of the easy-to-tear persuasion — and strong enough to get Faith right up on her. She licked her dark red lips and slipped her arms around Buffy's waist, dropping her hands to grab her lace-covered ass.

"You know, you're the only girl that color wouldn't look totally lame on," Faith told her, just a second before she was tipping Buffy's face back and kissing her, hard and sharp, like the world was ending and they had only a few minutes to fuck that couldn't be wasted. And Buffy wanted to protest that it was not a lame color, but it was true. She'd wanted to get something sexy. Red or black or something. But the pink had just sort of been calling to her. Saying _Buffy, you look so good in that color_. And then maybe she'd thought about Faith and her all-black outfits and her dark makeup and how, even though Buffy didn't look like that at all, Faith still acted like she was pretty. Gorgeous, even, maybe.

Actually, Faith objectified her like she was a 1950s housewife. But in a sexy way! Besides, her mouth was busy, and she couldn't complain about that, or about the way Faith's hands were creeping up to her breasts, the lace rasping over skin that seemed more sensitive now than it had when she had put this on. "We've already done the whole Faith is Buffy and Buffy is Faith thing," she said, when Faith released her mouth to start biting her way down her neck. "I figured I'd get sexy underwear that was more _me_."

"Hell yeah," Faith murmured, and then started rubbing Buffy's nipples through the lace with her thumbs. "All girly and shit. You know, I used to wonder what you wore under those teeny skirts. _Totally_ jacked off thinking about it being something like this. Major fingerbanging."

It had been white cotton panties at the time, because her mother would ground her forever if she had seen a receipt that had a number this high on it for just underwear. But that was no fun, so Buffy pressed her breasts into Faith's hands and smiled at her and twisted the strap harder. "Nah, usually something teenier."

Faith grinned like a shark and shoved her back onto the bed, licking her lips exaggeratedly. "Atta girl."

The black straps outlined her body exactly the way they were probably supposed to, highlighting every curve from the slope of her waist to the swell of her breasts. Buffy giggled when she realized that they went around her nipples almost deliberately, like the point was to keep them hard and poking through her shirt all evening, then bit her lip when Faith leaned over and the material kept her perfectly shaped. "For the record, I totally thought your underwear would be easier to take off."

Faith gasped, and clapped a hand to her chest. "Are you calling me a skank? I'll have you know this isn't _supposed_ to come off." She planted one leg up on the bed and showed Buffy the crotch. The straps formed a diamond around her mound, shaved and pink and shining with the beginnings of arousal. "Easy access, B. That's the name of the game."

If Buffy had harbored any lingering uncertainty about whether or not she was, like, _really_ into this, it would have disappeared then. It wasn't really a sexy pose — actually it was profoundly unsexy — but she had the funniest urge to kiss Faith there. "Uh huh." She reached back out and grabbed one of the set of straps that was slung over Faith's hips, and pulled her close, and then bent to do just that, kissing her just over her cleft where the straps converged, and then letting her tongue slip downwards before she stopped, blinked, looked up. "Can I — ?"

Faith was gaping at her. "Buffy Summers is asking to lick my pussy," she said, as if in a dream. Then, shaking her head so her hair came down around her shoulders, dark waves, she snapped out of it. "Hell yes. Do it, girlfriend."

Buffy ran her tongue just under the edge of the straps. Spike had always done this like he was starving for her, which was hot and all, but she didn't really think she was totally ready to take that plunge. And anyway, Faith squirmed when she did it, and when she sucked for a moment on her clit, she got two hands tangling in her hair, pulling at it hard like the other Slayer was just trying to stay upright. "Tell me if — "

"Harder," Faith begged, and twisted her fingers in Buffy's hair like she was trying to grind her face forwards. Buffy took the hint and sucked again, reaching out with her tongue to stroke through the folds, trying to remember the things she'd liked best, when she'd had this done to her. The scent of Faith against her nose, the rub of her smooth skin under Buffy's lips, the taste of her on her tongue — she understood suddenly why some men liked this. Not to mention the way she was shaking as Buffy licked her, experimentally at first and then starting to harden her tongue to give Faith more pressure when that seemed to be the thing that made her quake.

Her fingers, still hooked in the black straps, pulled again, and Faith responded by pulling her hair, her thigh muscles tightening under Buffy's chin, her cunt running slicker as Buffy's tongue touched it over and over. Some men complained about not being able to find where to touch a girl, but, Buffy thought, they were just idiots, because it was so obvious, the swollen, red little pearl standing out amid the lingerie, looking like it was begging for attention. When she sucked on it Faith made gasping sounds and ground against her.

When she teased it with her teeth Faith practically screamed, so she did it again, pulling on the straps to tighten the diamond around Faith, to get her all swollen and dripping forward onto Buffy's tongue before she sucked again, her front teeth just grazing her under the hood. "Fuck, Buffy," Faith said, her husky voice cracking around the syllables. "Babe, keep sucking — "

Buffy thought about removing her mouth to say, _that's what they all say_ , but it seemed cruel and anyway, Faith was holding her down. She sucked, aggressively — she would be worried about hurting Faith, except that having been in this exact position, she was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen. It would have hurt a normal girl, maybe, but they were Slayers, and they could take it. Her lips and tongue felt heavy with Faith's juices on them, and the scent would stay with her for days, having her nose buried here, her tongue buried here.

When Faith came she tightened around the tip of Buffy's tongue, forcing her out, and a little rush of fluid flooded her mouth. She blinked, and swallowed it, even though she wasn't totally sure what that was about. Faith's head was thrown back when Buffy raised hers, her muscles shaking, her body under the straps seeming vulnerable for a moment before it faded back to just looking sexy again.

Faith's breasts were heaving, and she was looking at Buffy like she had never seen her before in her life. She pulled her up from her bent position to kiss her again, hard, with tongue, until she was just licking herself off Buffy's lips, out of the cracks of her mouth.

"Was it good?" Buffy asked her, knowing with a little rush of feminine pride that the answer was definitely going to be _yes_.

Faith's fingers hooked into the top of her panties and tore them off her like paper, a hungry glint in her eye. " _So_ your turn."


	15. stripping (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at this point i am simply not taking this seriously because there's not even any sex in this

Which human traditions Anya was interested in obeying when it came to her wedding was kind of a crapshoot, but it seemed like the best rule of thumb was that if it involved penises, she was in. Or at least that was what Willow had said when she had explained why Buffy had gotten an invitation to the bachelorette party that had specified that she was not to bring Dawn. "Oh, yes," Anya had said, when she had asked. "I doubt it will be appropriate for a teenager. And wear hot pink. I am told that there are themes to these things."

So, Buffy had worn hot pink. A hot pink dress with an a-line cut and the silver heels she had wanted to wear to prom. Willow was wearing hot pink. Tara and Halfrek were also wearing hot pink. Anya was wearing black, and looked like she was about to vibrate out of her skin with excitement.

Halfrek had brought about six bottles of wine to the Magic Box, but that appeared to be where her planning had ended. Willow and Tara had obligingly taken over decorating, so the whole store was covered in streamers and balloons, some shaped obscenely. "You know, I am very grateful that Willow has seen a penis before." Anya tugged on one of the strings. "These are very realistic looking."

Tara leaned over to Buffy's ear and whispered. "I found those, actually."

Everything pretty much stalled after that. There was music, and Buffy decided that getting drunk was the best course of action, but with only five people, the games Willow could make up on the spot got old fast. Anya was beginning to look bored and upset, but she perked up when Halfrek suggested they take a trip to an alternate dimension. "I'm going to the basement to see if we have a scrying stone. I think we could have fun with that."

Thumping noises emanated from the basement once she had disappeared down the stairs and then her voice drifted up over the music. "Oh, Hallie, you shouldn't have — oh."

She came up the staircase dragging Spike by the hand. "Ladies," he said, in a tone that implied he thought he was being polite. "Looking very shaggable this evening."

"I saw him bent over a crate and assumed that he was a stripper because of his pants," Anya told them. "But then I saw it was just Spike."

"I assumed no one would hear me over this trash," he explained, pointing at the speaker.

"And you were right," said Anya. "I didn't. Also, you're paying for that Burba weed."

"Surprised the Slayer didn't notice me," he said, digging around in his pockets. He looked right at Buffy, eyes transparently dragging down her body. He had the most unsettling way of making her feel completely naked. Or was that just the feeling of wanting to be completely naked? Possibly alone. The jut of his hips was suggestive, she thought. "Tell you what, luv, I've left my wallet in my other jeans. So I can either owe you one or you can look at my goodies as payment."

Buffy rolled her eyes, too tipsy to contain either her amusement or her frustration. Halfrek just drank another glass of wine while Tara and Willow both turned red. Anya put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "Willow, put on something by Prince."

If it weren't for the music, you could have heard a pin drop in the Magic Box.

Then Buffy started screaming with laughter. She didn't think she'd found anything so funny since Harmony declared herself Public Enemy Number One. Spike glared at her, and then he squared his jaw and rolled out his shoulders like he was about to punch something. "All right. Let's go, Red. Hit me with Purple Rain."

Willow hovered over the radio, looking at him like he'd grown a second head. Buffy couldn't stop wheezing, clinging to the counter and collapsing into a chair when the counter failed her, knees weak with mirth.

"Just so all you girls know, I'm not wearing anything under all this, so this might be right quick. Knowing that, anyone who doesn't want a lap dance better stand up."

Tara jumped out of her seat like it was on fire and ran to stand by Willow. Spike grinned at her. Halfrek, who was already standing, leaned against a pillar, looking bored, if, in fact, you could look bored with a face like that. Anya, meanwhile, walked calmly over to Tara's chair and planted herself in it. Buffy thought about getting up, but she was still laughing, and — and she didn't want to. She'd seen him with his shirt off, after all. It was _definitely_ a sight worth seeing.

"Bride to be it is," purred Spike, as the music started. "Don't tell Harris about this or he'll make me listen to his bloody voice while he tells me off."

With that, he planted his feet to the beat of the music and slapped on an expression that, in Buffy's experience, usually preceded him bending her over a gravestone after a short exhilarating footrace through the cemetery. She stopped laughing as he ran a hand slowly down the length of his body, ending with grabbing the crotch of his jeans as he started moving to the music.

The duster went first, mostly because it had to, sliding down his arms like a caress and pooling on the floor behind him in a dark heap. After that his hips slid forward in a smooth swing, body turning as sinuous as it ever was in battle. When he started padding towards Anya, Buffy could see the predator in him, the stalking, swaggering creature that had prowled the back alleys and drained girls like them for fun.

Infuriatingly, it was hot instead of scary. Her eyes were glued to the sway of his hips, the hand he was running through his hair, breaking it out of its hard shell and into those familiar curls she usually only saw after they had been in bed for a while. When he lifted his hands to grip his pinky ring she started giggling again, but he twisted his spine to turn back to her as he slid it off and tossed it over his shoulder, a movement so suggestive that she almost missed the fact that it landed without a sound on the duster. 

Who could make taking a ring off sexy? That was so unfair. Willow was red all the way down to the neckline of her dress, and Tara wasn't looking at him. Turning back to Anya, he started doing the same with his other rings. When he started on the bracelets, one by one, alternating wrists, he managed to show off the lean muscles in his forearms, the bulge of his biceps under his painted-on shirt.

"Take off your shirt," Anya told him matter-of-factly. " _That_ is not stripping."

"Well, I had to get creative, because I'm wearing three pieces of cloth, pet," he said, shrugging, and then put his hands on his chest, shockingly white against the dark fabric, and trailed them down his body until they reached his hips, where his fingers suddenly tightened and started dragging his shirt up as he knelt on the sides of Anya's chair, her knees squeezed in between his as he leaned back in a curve and peeled it off over his head.

Buffy heard someone squeak. But it couldn't be Anya, because she wasn't even blushing, just looking at the glass-cut edges of his muscles appraisingly. Tara was studiously looking at the side of Willow's face, and Halfrek was pouring herself another glass of wine like nothing was happening. Had it been her? She had seen the lean muscles of his back before. Maybe they all had, it wasn't like Spike was shy.

He was definitely not shy because his crotch was about two seconds away from Anya's face, his slim hips swaying to the music as he put his hands on either side of the back of her chair.

Then, as quickly as he had started, he climbed off. "That's your four minutes unless you've got something you'd like to tuck into my trousers, luv. Now — Slayer." He turned on Buffy, shoulders then waist then hips, like his body was moving in sections to show off as many angles of himself as possible. "See you're on my nice list."

"Sway your hips more!" Anya called out as he paced towards her. If he did, Buffy didn't notice, too caught up in the shift of the muscles in his torso, the familiar motion sending her back to the bed in his crypt with him gliding towards her, all pale skin and hard cock.

When he dropped his hand back to the crotch of his jeans to pop the button, she realized he was hard now, bulging against the fly. "Don't!" she said, her voice high and squeaky and embarrassing, her cheeks red from the alcohol or embarrassment, and he raised an eyebrow and dropped his hand away from the zipper without pulling it down, the jeans pulling low on his hips, exposing the defined ridges that led towards — oh god, she was getting wet.

His tongue flicked out, almost reptilian, as if he could taste it on the air, and his eyes met hers, burning. She was itching to put her hands on him, and he could clearly tell, from the smug, half-lidded look he was giving her, like a big cat spotting prey. "That's it, Slayer," he murmured, barely audible over the music. "Might pretend you think it's funny, but your cunt's telling me different. Bet I could just — push that skirt up — "

"Take them off!" Anya yelled, and Spike tossed her a roguish grin over his shoulder.

He slid them a little lower, but with Buffy glaring daggers at him, her face burning, he wasn't going to go any further than teasing the girls behind him with the top curve of his ass, and Buffy with the start of the curls that led down into the barely-split zipper of his trousers. When he put his hands back in his hair, it stretched out all the muscles in his upper body. Buffy bit her lip to avoid whimpering as she clutched the edges of the seat.

"Look at that mouth," he whispered to her as he jutted his hips forward, a slinky twisting movement that made her think of the way he moved when he fought with her. "Pretty and pink and right next to my prick, isn't it."

" _Spike_. Shut up."

"Want to meet me in the alley after I've paid my debt, Slayer, and I'll show you the full monty."

"Ugh. No way," Buffy protested, but with a sort of sinking feeling in her stomach she knew she would be turning up at his crypt sometime around midnight, and from the look on his face, he knew it too.

His finishing move, as the song drew to its close, was to ooze onto the floor on his knees, his hands on her hips, legs spread wide, accentuating the cockstand he was sporting. He drew in a breath and closed his eyes for a second in pleasure at the scent of her, and Buffy thought she'd probably never wanted to have sex more in her life than she did right now.

Then he pushed his way back onto his feet and scooped his jewelry into one of the pockets of the duster, sauntering out the door without putting a stitch of his clothing back on.

He waved as he went out the door, jacket hanging over his bare arm. "Have a good evening, ladies. Anyanka, you know how to have more fun than this. And if you want to hire a bloke wearing a thong, I've got ol' grandad's LA number."

Silence was all that was left in his wake. Then Anya shrugged and stood up, adjusting her dress. "For a dead man Spike has a surprisingly vital physique. Although he is too thin for my tastes."

More silence.

Then Buffy said, "Well, um. I should probably... go — patrol."


	16. overstimulation (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> making up for spike not coming in the last chapter with spike coming a bunch in this chapter

The funny thing was, Will had thought it was mercy for a moment when Angelus had stroked him off the first time. Usually he didn't bother — and this time he had gone for it so readily, that big hand clasped around him, squeezing him tight before he had even slid inside. And, like an idiot, Will had bought it. Had pushed his hips up into the touch, bared his throat —

"Do you know why we're here, lad?" said Angelus' voice, soft and poisonous, just a little tinge of a brogue in it, at the moment he entered his body, just when he couldn't think past the stretch of it, his muscles still loose with orgasm.

The noise he made must have been enough of an affirmation for his grandsire to take it as one, because one of those hands wrapped back around his cock, the broad body baring down on his back.

"Darla says you've been sticking your hands in the cookie jar, Will." A thrust that knocked the breath out of him. "Touching Dru when you're all by your lonesome." A rough hand tightening around him, stroking relentlessly. "Got to thinking you're your own man, and she's your woman."

In this position, face down with his legs spread, his hips propped up for Angelus to split him open, it was hard to feel like much of his own anything. Hard to feel like anything but Angelus'.

"There's nothing you have that isn't mine, boy." Angelus' hand was firm on him, and it squeezed another release out of him. But the hand didn't let go. Instead, it tightened, a little painful. For the first time he felt the twinge of foreboding that went along with Angelus' threatening tone. "You need to spill so badly you can't wait until you have permission? Well, Will, you won't need any permission tonight."

There wasn't any point in protesting that Dru had asked, had begged, had pulled him into bed, or in pointing out that she had spilled more — blood or slick — than he had. Angelus didn't even really care about the substance of his transgressions (a lesson it had taken him a decade and a half to learn) so much as he liked to have a lesson to teach when he was meting out discipline. He touched Dru without permission all the time, but Angelus had decided to take umbrage because he had wanted this: this moment, Will arse up for him and writhing under his thrusts and the punishing grip of his hand.

He tried tuning him out, just focusing on the practiced stretch of his body around the thick cock inside him, the motion of the hand, wet with spend, over his prick. But the great Irish bastard kept whispering to him, accent curling into his ears. "Can't keep your trousers buttoned or your legs together, can you? You'd have made a fine whore."

Christ. He'd been a gentleman. Was now a vampire who killed people for fun. Had been walking the earth since the 1850's. But the lilting murmur in his ear still made him moan, like whore was a pretty name to be called, like Angelus was whispering love to him while he bruised his insides, breaking him open wide and perfect and — if Dru hadn't turned him he'd never have known this, the feeling of spasming around a prick like this, writhing in pleasure that nearly became pain as Angelus just kept going, reliable as a steam engine.

His hands ripped at the sheets as the wide body bore down on him, and he forced himself to push back into the thrusts even as Angelus kept pumping him, a motion that was starting to burn.

There was someone making whimpering noises. He was familiar enough with Angelus' games to know it was himself. "Angelus," he choked out, when the hand just tightened around him, not letting him soften when he came. It nearly ached, a sort of desperation that felt like being so hungry that it hurt when you filled your belly.

"What is it, Will?" he said, almost casually, and then pricked at his neck with those fine sharp fangs of his like Will was going to remember whatever inane thing he had doubtless been about to say before that.

How could he be getting hard again? How could he be staying that way? Vampires were, as he had learned, creatures of more stamina than humans, but even so, he rarely had his pleasure (four? Was it five?) so many times in so short a succession. How long had it been? Perhaps time had gone all sticky and slow the way it sometimes did when Angelus tortured him. Perhaps it had been four hours or thirty minutes or —

Deadly now. "Speak, boy."

What had he been about to say? "It's too much."

"Aye, well, maybe you should have thought about that before you laid hands on my women without me to supervise."

A thrust then that sent him hurtling towards the headboard, his hands barely coming up in time to stop himself from hitting his head. And then he couldn't let go of it, not without Angelus driving him through the wall. The insane thought entered his head that Angelus might, and might fuck him still outside, on the street where they had fallen. Might drag out this exquisite sort of pain for as long as he could before the sun came up. " — please."

"Begging already? Oh, lad, I've only started."

Vampires didn't sweat, not really. But the exhaustion when Angelus wrung another climax out of him showed in the quiver of his arms, the way his body went limp and shaking while those bloody big hands kept moving him like a ragdoll, sawing him up and down his prick. There was something dripping on his face even without the sweat, and —

That tongue, cool and rough, swiping the tear from his cheek. "Haven't I told you how pretty you are when you cry for me, Will?"

Surely he couldn't keep shooting. Not when Angelus was draining him like this, balls deep in him and giving him nothing but taking everything.

The next orgasm was more pain than pleasure. He sobbed through the one after that, while Angelus told him his seed was weak and clear and barely there, not good enough for Dru, just good enough to spill on the bedsheets. He had given up on holding onto the headboard and was just holding his arms over his head, crossed to keep himself from slamming into the wood. Angelus bit deep into his throat to force him into the next climax, and it was dry and agonizing. When he withdrew his fangs, Will was panting, taking heaving breaths that his lungs didn't need.

"How many's that, my boy?"

"I — I don't know — "

"Let's go for a nice round number, then, shall we?"

How many until the next round number? Will was dizzy with blood loss and his abdominal muscles had given out on him, so all that he could do was lie there and take it, the little rough edges of bliss that came into him on the blade of torment. "Angelus, I can't — "

"Darla did this to me a time or two," came the amused reply. "Wrung me out so's I could hardly walk. Prick chafed for a full day. Imagine it'll be worse for you, Will, seeing as how you can't keep yourself from finishing at the slightest touch of your sire's fingers. Seeing as how you won't be sitting down for days without feeling me in you."

If there had been a pillow under his head to bite, he would have bitten it, and damn the epithets. He had lost control of the demon and it was riding on the outside as Angelus plunged into him, over and over, and stripped him with a rough hand so powerfully that it stung. If this was the slightest touch —

"You're not my sire," he managed, before Angelus twitched and grew in him and then found his own release.

Teeth in his throat, spend inside him, fingers encircling him — he came with a pain like a knife at Angelus' command, and Angelus stopped his hips but didn't pull out, circling inside him while he grew soft and then beginning to drive in again when he began to harden once more. "For that, boy, what do we say to the _next_ round number?"

Will's cry was muffled by the commanding hand on the back of his neck.


	17. storytelling? (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what kink is this? idk, this is just the porn i wanted to write today. spike playing scheherazade. the prompt was pregnancy kink but given the fact that like, no pairing i want to write for is both (a) opposite sex and (b) fertile, i veered sharply off course. tossed a little in there at the end

"Well, you know, putting aside the fact that I was a poncy bastard when I was alive — "

Buffy smacked him in the shoulder. "No, don't put that aside, it's like a regency romance."

"Regency was about forty-odd years before I was born, pet. Anyway, what would've happened truthfully, I reckon, is I would've seen you, been knocked dead by that gorgeous body of yours, and then I'd've spent the rest of my lonely virgin days occasionally wanking off thinking about it and writing poetry about your hair while you went off and got married to a richer and more sexually experienced bloke."

She rolled her eyes. "You are absolutely no fun."

"You take that back."

"Then tell me a story." For a moment they stared at each other, Buffy with her arms crossed over her breasts and her eyes narrowed, Spike with one eyebrow raised.

Just like always, he broke first. "Ugh, bloody hell. Fine. But just so's you know, I'm going to be imagining you in a low-cut dress with your tits pushed up to your chin. Red, maybe."

"Scandalous."

"Not for evening wear. Anyhow, let's say I would've greeted you at a do. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all. Have to ask someone for a first dance, and love, there's no way I wouldn't've picked you. Not just for the tits, although they wouldn't've hurt, but I would've thought you were delicate, because I was a sainted bloody moron.

Now, if we were being realistic about this, you would never say yes, because I'd be dressed in a little grey waistcoat and big thick specs and my hair'd be everywhere. But let's pretend that you suffer a bout of temporary insanity and let me have the dance.

It's only polite to pay attention to the lady during a dance, pet. Undivided. And we know how you respond to my undivided attention, assuming the spectacles don't dilute it."

He was giving her that look now, like there wasn't anything in the world but the two of them, and he couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than her existing. Funnily enough, she was pretty sure he'd always given her that look, even when they were fighting. And even then, it had been a _little_ captivating, although it didn't turn her on like it did now.

"Now, I can't say anything too nasty. Not that I would've, because just thinking it would've made me blush. But even if I would've, I couldn't've because it's improper to whisper in your ear in the middle of a dance, love, even though I'd want to like anything. It would've made me half-mad to have everything we said overheard, even though none of it would've been anything untoward.

I'd've had to let somebody else have you after that, love. Not the done thing to keep dancing with the same girl. But that would've killed me, Buffy. Seeing some other bloke with his hand on your waist, guiding you through a quadrille or whatever the hell was on. Would've asked you again after a couple of dances, but that would've had to be the last one, or people'd talk.

Would've watched you the rest of the evening, though. From the sidelines, mostly. I didn't get so many dances. Would've sought you out at the next one, and the next one.

Maybe eventually I'd've gotten my courage up to declare myself to you. Flowers — tulips, I reckon. Awful bloody poetry. Not that I'd ever do it unless you encouraged me, pet. This bout of temporary madness is getting longer and longer the more story I tell.

After some sensible period of courting I'd've been boring William and gotten down on one knee and asked you to marry me, Miss Summers. No skull ring this time."

"Marriage is not boring."

"No, but waiting until the wedding night is. And kitten, believe you me, we would've waited even though I'd've probably had a cockstand for you every time we saw each other. Even if you put those hot little hands all over me and said _William please_. I'd've been a pussy about it."

Buffy smacked him again. "You have to go into detail about the wedding night."

"You know, they write whole books of this rubbish, you don't need me to tell it to you."

"I know, but I like imagining you all — I don't know. If we'd been normal. And I would've looked really good in a corset."

Spike grinned at her, wolfish. "Yeah, Slayer. That little waist pinched tight." He touched her waist, then moved his hand to her breasts. "These pretty things bursting over the top. Probably I'd be thinking about having them in my mouth all the bloody time, though I'd rather die than tell a lady that, obviously.

Anyhow. Your madness extends. You say yes. We probably get married in a sodding church or something, even though it seems like a waste of the ability to walk in the sun.

Now, we've been allowed to be alone on occasion since the engagement, so that's not such a revelation, but since this is repression central, we've never been in a room with a bed together. Being realistic here, since I'm a nancy in your fantasy, I'm going to blush as soon as the door is closed and we're together. Maybe you would've too. And then I'd've made some inane remark like _May I help you, Mrs. Pratt?_ and I would've helped you out of that dress. This is my favorite part, now, so I'm going to go slow. Tight bodices were in, so I'd have to unbutton you. The skirt'd come off first, sliding onto the ground in a heap. Then the waist — not so hard to take off, but there are hooks — and the bustle. Then the corset. That's a job to unlace, love. Complicated knotting at the back, but I'll figure it out. It's a man's job to help his wife dress, see. And when we take that off, you're just in your underthings. That is, decency skirt, chemise, drawers, that whole lot."

"I'm sorry, I'm still wearing clothes at this point? How many clothes am I wearing?"

"Why do you think I prefer the modern era? Easier to get a lady naked, music's better, and we deep-fry pickles now. But you wanted realism. Which, by the way, would be you undressing behind a screen and me turning out the lights after I'd got out of my fussy bits and the two of us fumbling our way into bed in the dark to have polite sex."

Buffy frowned. "Not that realistic."

"Well, in that case, pet, I'd want to take off your underthings, too. They'd be thin, see, so if the light was behind you, I'd be able to see the shape of your body through them. And what a body it is, pet. Would've knocked me right over. I'd've been on my knees in front of you faster'n you could say _William you're looking a little faint_.

Then you'd probably realize I'm still fully dressed. This hasn't occurred to me yet, because I'm a nice little gentleman who's never seen a lady's cunt, so I'm pretty fixated there. I'd be a lot less nice to my clothes than to yours, Buffy, which is one way I've changed. Tear off buttons if I had to to give you what you wanted."

"What did you look like then?"

"Oh — skinny, gangly, you know. Silly bloody hair, all mousy. Doe eyes to die for, I hear, but a bit soft around the middle and in the arms since I wasn't throwing demons around on the regular at that time. This turning you on yet?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I think it would've been cute. I don't _just_ sleep with guys who have six-packs, you know."

"Right, there was that one wanker."

"Just keep going, Spike, you're just getting to the good part."

"All right, all right. So we're bloody well naked. Finally. It's taken us probably two, three hours to get all those clothes off — don't look at me like that, Slayer, I'm only joking —

Since you don't want it so realistic as it would've been — two-pump chump I was at the time, as I recall — let's think of you on the bed, love. All naked and golden. Looking like Aphrodite, I would've told you, and waited for Herself to strike me down. Would've crawled in between your legs — "

He insinuated himself there while he spoke, smiling down at her with a look that was caught somewhere between fond and mischievous.

"Now I'd like to say I'd've licked you out good until you were quivering and saying things a lady never should've. Begging me, _Oh, William, you can't, that isn't — William, please_. But if I do that now I won't be able to keep talking, and look how wet you are for it. Practically shining, and Buffy, are you sure I can't stop talking a while? Right, I know what that glare means. Reckon I better had ought to get you a corset, see if we can play with this a bit some day.

Even so, I'd've wanted to touch you. Just here. Nervous fingers, remember I've never touched a girl like this. Stroke my fingers through the hair here — just to the tip of you, love. And you'd've gasped, just like that. Now, I would've kissed you before we'd gotten to the bed, obviously, but now I'm mostly focused here. And because you're a nice girl, it makes you squirm, doesn't it, having me look? Just like that. What a pretty thing it is. And I'd've told you that. All breathless with wonder. Would've touched you just so, felt along you until you came to your senses and put my hand where you wanted it."

Buffy dragged his fingers to her clit, and he licked the edges of his teeth, like he was waiting for fangs to grow there. It almost shattered the illusion.

"That's my girl. Now, assuming I haven't already shot off just from the smell of you, from my little look between your legs, sight of you all spread out on our sheets — and for the record, kitten, we'd actually be under the sheets hiding from each other and pretending we aren't naked, but —

Anyhow, I'd be hard as nails for you. Now, of course I'd touched myself by that point. Never grew any hair on my palm or that rubbish, so I reckon it's safe. But I've never had anywhere so slick and tight to bury myself, love, and you with your legs open for me, I'd've been beside myself. All sweating and blushing and shaking like a girl.

You being the good girl you are, you'd cup my face, I imagine — yeah, just like that — and you'd pull me down, kiss me. Get us both a little distracted, keep us from thinking about what we're about to do. Your tits rubbing against my chest, though, that'd drive me up the wall. Hard little nipples, and Christ, Buffy, yeah, put your legs around me. Do what comes natural.

You're my girl, love. You're mine. Wearing my ring and not a stitch else. Might miss the first time or so, but we'd get me in. Can't imagine how soft you are, Slayer. So soft around me, so bloody tight. Hot as hell and so wet for me I'd slide in slow and easy and it wouldn't hurt you a lick, I hope. Wish you could feel it, honest. How I feel, you wrapped around me and all. Would've blown poncy William's mind. Leaked it right out of his ears and it'd be over in a jiff."

"Spike," Buffy growled, annoyed with him for holding her there, still, him sheathed in her but motionless, making a face like he'd seen god. Which, okay. Flattering. But so not the point.

"That's not it, is it?"

He kissed her again, slow and deep and a little clumsy, like he was trying to make it real, his hands fluttering over her sides like he hadn't touched her before.

"William," she sighed, and he started moving.

"Now, at this point I've no idea what the clit is — "

"William!"

"But we're ignoring that so I can give my girl what she needs —

Got my fingers on you while I'm moving in you. All hesitant and suchlike, but maybe you've been a bad girl a couple of times, maybe you know how to touch yourself. How you want me to touch you. Go on, pet, show me just how to do it. Teach me."

Their hands moved together on her, a little too light, like he didn't know what he was doing, as he thrust into her. Buffy ignored him when he started to speed his thrusts, and then let him take over rubbing at her with his thumb, too confident to be much in the fantasy anymore.

She came with a gasp, and he didn't drag it out like usual. If he hadn't been cool inside her when he spilled, she could have thought for a moment that he was a man.

His body blanketed hers, hand stroking her hair across the pillow. "When it's over, I'd want you to go to sleep on my shoulder. Bit like you do now. But difference is, you'd wake up and still be mine."

"I'm still yours!"

"Shh, Slayer, I'm finishing your story."

"I don't know about you, but my story could use another finish."

He snickered. "Right, then. Anyway, reckon you'd probably get knocked up within the year, what with how I've just discovered the joys of sex. Pop out a couple of brats, name 'em something bloody stupid. Die naturally at the ripe old age of forty or whatever."

"That is so _not_ getting my story finished."

"I don't know, Buffy, I reckon you'd make a gorgeous mum. All glowing and all. Tits'd grow, that's for sure. You'd get all curvy, like."

"Yeah. And you'd be a pervert the whole time."

"If you're my wife and it's my kid it's fair game."

She looked at him. Raised one eyebrow. He gave again.

"Ugh, fine. What d'you want to hear next, the honeymoon?"


	18. orgy (scourge of europe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> been watching ATS and i, unfortunately, saw this prompt and knew i had no other options. brought to you by me, uncontrollably staring at julie benz' boobs in period clothing

Darla shrieked with laughter when Angelus threw her towards the bed, landing with a bounce, her lilac skirts flying everywhere, crushed under his knees when he crawled over her, pressing her down into the mattress. Dru tore out of Spike's arms in the doorway and went running for them, tucking herself in against her sire's side and kissing the side of his neck messily.

"Leave it to Spike to do the prep work," Spike muttered, and used Dru's turned back to start picking apart the laces holding her ensemble together. Angelus was doing well enough by himself getting his prick out of his trousers, the great lout, but Dru liked a little help. She spilled out of her dress without any trouble, having not had the patience for wearing anything under it that morning, breasts brushing against Angelus' shoulder as Spike loosened the tie around her waist and slid the skirts off her hips.

She looked like a painting there, the Allegory of Lust, naked next to the two of them all dressed up for a party, but then that was Dru. Wild girl, only more beautiful when there was blood running down her naked breasts. When he took the pins out of her hair it tumbled down around her shoulders and then Angelus was turning his head to capture her mouth, tumbling her down onto the mattress beside Darla while Spike started disrobing himself, waiting to be invited.

It was Dru who did in the end — no surprise, it always was — holding out her hand for him to take and pulling him in, half-under Angelus with her, though her sire didn't take his mouth off her throat long enough to glance at him. Darla had swung her legs off the side of the bed and was unlacing herself — Angelus, she always said, was too much a brute to do it and Spike never offered his services, nor did she ask for them.

He slid his hand across Dru's belly, kissing the other side of her neck, her skin blood-warm with their recent feeding. Angelus' big fucking bear paw landed accidentally on his hip for a moment, but _only_ for a moment before he settled it back on Dru's.

There was a ripping sound as Darla tore the coat from Angelus' back, and wasn't that a good way to get that Irish temper up, muddling about with his clothing? He let out a deep rumbling growl and turned on her, and Spike ignored the scent of her blood and the sound of her laughter in the air while he took Angelus' place over Dru, her breasts pressed softly against his bare chest as her arms and legs twined around his body.

His fingers went between her legs, and she cooed and started singing into his ear. "Shh, princess," he murmured to her. "Shh, shh."

When he finally slipped into her, her razor-sharp nails scored fine long scratches up his back, and he could feel them running with his blood. Not for long — the tongue on his back, running across the cuts, must be Darla's; her hair was silky on his back where Angelus' tended to bristle. "My William," Dru said, dragging her claws now down the sides of his arms, shifting her face to pierce his tongue with her fangs when he slipped it into her mouth, the iron taste and smell filling the space between them. "Oh, grandmother, doesn't he taste good?"

Spike moaned into her mouth when he felt Darla's finger tracing one of the scrapes down his spine. When it hit the top of his arse, he faltered in fucking his girl. "Can't keep time, can you, boy?" said Angelus in his ear, and then the muffled sound of kissing where Darla was surely passing him the taste of blood.

"My boy, I think — " More kissing. Darla's voice took on that husky tone she used when she wanted to lead Angelus by the nose without him knowing he was being led. A whore's trick, but it worked every time. " — I think we can correct that, Angelus."

Then the tip of her thumb was pressing into his hole. Hers, not Angelus', because he was plenty familiar with the touch of Angelus' massive bloody fingers, and this was much smaller. Dru giggled when he jerked with surprise, and then Darla's tongue was on one of the wounds on his arm, stinging as it scraped across the flesh, her thumb hooking inside him and pulling like she could pry him open just like that. Dru tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him down to her mouth, whispering in his ear. "Are we going to make Daddy happy together, my Spike?"

Well, there was only one person Darla might be doing _that_ for. He could hear the sounds of Angelus inside her, his animal grunts and her breathy moans into his shoulder.

She always made a high clear noise when she came, as long as her mouth was free to do it with, so when that sound blew across Spike's spine, coupled with a tug of her thumb and a sudden emptiness inside him, he knew that Angelus had fucked one out of her. She didn't wobble with satiation, though, not like Dru, didn't sway like Angelus. Just smoothly slipped off that admittedly magnificent prick and crawled up the bed to kiss Dru as Angelus put a hand in the back of Spike's hair and yanked him back to make room for his sire between them.

"Angelus, you prick — "

Slick with Darla's juices, the head of Angelus' prick touched him, and then the sod was pressing in, Spike's back arching as he found himself fully impaled. Dru had loosed his neck in favor of Darla's, but Angelus didn't let him go without for long, wrapping one arm there as if to choke him, holding him upright at an angle that made it well nigh impossible for him to move anything but his hips and arms. "Only one who hasn't tasted you yet, aren't I?" came the soft brogue from behind him, and then there were fangs in his throat and he was going limp in Angelus' arms, the power of his grandsire's hips the only thing that was still driving him into Dru.

She squealed in pleasure, fingers tangling in Darla's hair until it looked close to ripping, and then Darla smacked her hands away and swung around to straddle her face. From the scent of her, she was dripping wet, with Angelus' spend and her own, and there was a flash of pink as Dru obligingly extended her tongue to catch it.

Spike was on level with Darla's tits, which wasn't a bad view to have, objectively, but a little put out not to be able to see Dru's face anymore. At this point, though, Angelus' front pressed against his back, staying upright was his main priority as his grandsire used his body to fuck Dru. He didn't have an ounce of control over the pacing or the power — maybe a little over the angle, but for the most part, he was reduced to being the toy that mediated between them, a position occasionally reserved for pretty humans who hadn't quite outlived their usefulness yet.

Darla let out a low moan as she rode Dru's face, her hips circling with a precision you only learned as a professional. If it had been Dru, Spike would have leaned forward to suck on her nipples, but he'd learned his lesson well and good about putting his mouth on Darla without her permission. Her punishments weren't nearly as inventive as Angelus'. She did the job with her fingers instead, arching her back to show off the lean curve of her body, the heavy weight of her breasts bouncing as she ground against Dru beneath her.

"I'll have you again," Angelus told her, sounding hungry. "Have you both again, my two girls."

Every thrust he placed drove Spike into Dru, between her wide-spread knees. Spike wanted to hate it, being taken over like this, like he couldn't fuck her properly himself, but surrounded by her tightness and with Angelus seated heavy inside him, he couldn't bring himself to any genuine anger. He'd be angry later, when Angelus said something about his sense of rhythm. For now, he dropped his hips to take him deeper, to shove his pubic bone up against Dru's clit as Angelus speared him over and over.

It didn't stop when he came, but when Dru writhed and shrieked and tightened hard around him, Angelus only gave it long enough for her to start whimpering with oversensitivity before he gave it up too. Then he was pulling out and pushing Spike aside to get to her cunt — wanted to pain her himself, that was his way.

Darla, to avoid Dru's fangs, had raised herself, and now that Dru was being slammed into too hard to concentrate, she crooked her fingers at Spike and he went obligingly face down between her legs, tasting Dru there, tasting Angelus. She sighed, the sound of a woman who was being bored, and Angelus reached over to smack his upturned arse, as if there was anything he could do to kick Spike into the sort of drive that would satisfy this woman, who was determined to be unsatisfied by anyone but her childe.

When she finally gave up the ghost and let him suck a climax out of her, she put her strong little hand in his hair, lazy and languid, and turned his head to force him to watch Dru thrashing under her sire, his teeth in her throat and prick sliding in and out of her like a battering ram.

She was screaming for _daddy_. Always did, up until the moment she came, and then she went silent, mouth and eyes open wide as if she was seeing through the stars as it happened.

Angelus' arm fit over all three of them when he pulled out of her and reached over to put his hand on Darla's hip.


	19. sharing clothes (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> really couldn't beat the other day's action so i've been sort of typing and retyping stuff all day. came up with some great sexts and then figured out that i couldn't upload them, so... womp womp. skipped way ahead on the list to try to exorcise my demons

Angel woke up, as he always did, with a little bit of a jolt when he realized one of the windows was open. Then the awareness of where he was set in, and he relaxed again, sitting up and stretching and then making a displeased rumbling sound when he realized the bed next to him was empty.

Not that Spike was exactly who he wanted to be waking up to every morning, but if someone was leaving the bed, Angel preferred to be the one. There was some sort of sense of satisfaction in fucking a lover so well that they slept through your exit, which was something he'd never managed to achieve with Spike and shouldn't be surprised about not achieving this morning.

Huh. That was funny. Spike's clothes were still strewn all over the room, through the doorway and into the hall, just where they had fallen the night before. Which meant either that he hadn't left or that he'd left naked, which was, although funny as a concept, probably not something he would ever hear the end about from any of his friends.

When he got closer to the kitchen, he could hear the hum of the microwave and the pop of the coffeemaker, and realized just before he came around the corner that Spike was making breakfast. "Morning," he mumbled, to alert him to his presence, and Spike raised a mug at him as if in toast without ever turning around.

His hair was wild from bed, curly and riotous, and he was wearing a purple dress shirt that was definitely not his, judging by the way it didn't fit him. Spike wasn't a small man, but neither was he a particularly large one, despite his outsized presence, and his shoulders and arms were practically swimming in a shirt that was tailored for Angel, the cuff slipping off one wrist in a way that made him look almost childish. Angel thought about telling him how much that shirt had cost, but instead found himself fixating on the way the hemline — long, designed to be tucked in — came down to his mid-thigh. From behind, the size of it made him seem delicate, which, in a way, he always had been: sharp bones, fine features, never destined, no matter how much he exercised, for heavy musculature.

"What's wrong with _your_ clothes?" he asked, as Spike turned around to pass him the mug that had been in the microwave. The shirt was only half-buttoned, just enough to keep it from sliding off his shoulders, and the neckline plunged, showing off the razor edges of his collarbone underneath it, his chest and throat bruised from Angel's mouth. It was such a captivating image that he almost held the mug up to his mouth handle-first in his distraction.

"Well, seeing as you had your first little undeath all over the front of my shirt, I wasn't exactly clamoring to put it back on. Just the jacket's more of a fetish look and if you think I'm getting anywhere near a pair of jeans at this hour you've got another think coming."

The blood was too hot. Angel set it down to cool, and raised an eyebrow. "So you stole my clothes. Out of my hamper, since I think I wore that two days ago."

"Don't tell me this look doesn't make you want to bend me over the counter, granda. You always used to go nuts when Darla would wear your togs as nighties."

There wasn't really any use in denying it to Spike, or pretending that the part of him that was warmed by possession had been caged along with the demon, so Angel didn't try. "It's just — "

" — that you're a great big caveman and it gets your prick hard when you piss on your territory," Spike said casually.

Angel opened his mouth to object, and then shut it when he realized that any protestation would just earn him an even more obscene metaphor. Spike snickered at him, and took another swig of his own blood as the coffee machine beeped. When he turned back around to attend to it, Angel slipped off his stool, quiet as only a vampire could be, and crept up behind him.

He didn't jump when Angel put his hands on his hips — not the way he would have a hundred years ago, anyway — but he was clearly surprised, because he froze for a moment: just one, and he restarted himself so quickly that no one who didn't know him well would have noticed it, and continued grabbing coffee mugs. "You still take seven creams and eighteen sugars?" he asked, trying to sound acidic.

Angel, mouth open against the place where the throb of his pulse lay dead, wasn't buying it. "Leave it on the pot. I have property to reclaim."

Spike's slim waist under his hands felt more fragile than usual. When he inhaled, he could smell the scent of his own body on top of the smoke-and-leather undertone that Spike always seemed to have. The demon in him purred at the idea of a lover, fresh from his bed, wrapped in his scent. Even if the lover was annoying as hell, bending his back to rest his elbows on the counter with his ass pushed out against Angel's hips like he was tempting fate. "You talking about me or the shirt, mate? Because I hate to break it to you, but I'm not — "

Angel spun him before he could finish the sentence and bent to kiss him, because the only thing that could shut Spike up once he started going was putting something in his mouth. Even _with_ that, Spike made sounds under his tongue, wriggling in his grip even though Angel knew he wasn't actually trying to get away. "You know what I'm talking about."

It was the same reason he'd always liked it on Darla. Liked it more on her, really, because she had been smaller, so the fact that it wasn't her shirt had been emphasized. Made them look so _claimed_ , when they wore his clothes. Angelus hadn't had much of a nurturing side, but he had liked to _possess_ , and when it came right down to it, you possessed someone more completely if they relied on you for things like food or shelter or the shirt on their back.

He lifted Spike onto the counter next to the coffee pot and got only a token objection. Like they couldn't both tell he liked to be manhandled, liked Angel shouldering his way between his legs and pulling his hips toward the edge so that he had to throw his hands back to keep from falling off. "You randy Irish bastard," Spike muttered, as if he weren't twining his legs around Angel's hips or opening his mouth to be kissed deeper.

Angel put his hand up the bottom of the shirt and found Spike hard under it, like he almost always was by the time hands got below the belt. He'd never met anyone else so ready to go all the time. "Seems like you're on the same page."

"Don't flatter yourself, he waves at everybody."

Spike's skin was cool under the shirt, a few healing abrasions from scratches from the night before rough under Angel's fingers when he trailed them up his belly. He had foregone supporting himself on the counter in favor of twisting his hands into Angel's hair and letting Angel hold him up, which could be interpreted as an expression of trust but which was more likely Spike playing on his current look: owned, vulnerable, to be taken care of. He had always been a master of remaking himself in the image of something desirable.

And he _was_ desirable like this, breathing like a human while Angel touched him, his fingers tight in his hair. There was something — something about watching his hand move under his own shirt, a bulge in the dark fabric that was wetting as the head of Spike's cock dragged over it — something powerful in it, like being two hundred and thirty-some years younger and new to this. The smell of coffee in the air and Spike's bare pale ankles tangled together at the back of Angel's legs in the morning light through the necrotinted window.

When Spike pulled too hard on his hair, Angel made a reproving noise against his mouth, and quick and easy, just like Spike always was if you chastised him when he was turned on enough, the hands dropped out of his hair and back to the counter, the shirt slipping off one shoulder as his back arched, hips pushing up against Angel's hand.

He bent his head to tongue over the bruise that was fading green on the wing of Spike's collarbone, which was shaped somewhat distinctively like his teeth. The muscle in Spike's neck flexed, and his hand nearly tipped over the half-full mug of blood on the counter when he pushed his chest forward. "Tighter, love. Give me more."

There was some fun to be had in not giving Spike what he wanted, but it was hard to deny him when he looked like this. He made his grip firmer, and shouldered Spike back into the cabinets, his ass balanced on the edge of the counter and body tilted precariously backwards, stomach muscles straining under the fabric to keep his hips from falling away from Angel's hand.

Angel kissed him, because the way his mouth was half-open and his eyes were closed, throat bare as he tipped his head back, made it irresistible. It completed the picture, that was all. Spike strung out on him like a drug, the too-big shirt falling off him, making him look slim and the expression on his face making him look desperately needy.

He gasped into Angel's mouth when he tightened his hand again and stripped him with purpose. When Angel bit his lower lip, tugging on it with his teeth and showing a hint of fang, Spike shuddered and came over his hand and the fabric. Angel kept kissing him through it, because it was the sort of thing Angelus would never have bothered with for one of his possessions, and wiped his hand clean on the fabric over Spike's hip.

When he finally pulled away, he was so hard he was aching, and Spike's mouth was just swollen enough to give him some good ideas of where he'd like to deal with that. "Another shirt ruined," his grandchilde said airily, and started unbuttoning it. "Guess I'll have to go naked. What a shame."

Wait, that was right. That was _his_ shirt. Angel blinked at him, naked on the counter as the shirt slipped off his shoulders and crumpled in a heap behind Spike. "Oh, god. I put your ass on my kitchen counter."

Spike grinned and made a motion like he was pulling on puppet strings.


	20. outdoors (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felt very uninspired for this, idk why, still feel uninspired. who knows

The demon he had been tussling with fell to the ground, head rolling, and Spike whipped around to see Buffy shoving her sword into the other one's lower back, the metal separating two vertebrae and protruding out of the grey, scaly flesh covering the thing's stomach. It went down with a thud, Buffy standing perfectly still while it slid off her blade, her feet shoulder-width apart, her chest heaving.

The clearing was finally quiet, and the rush of adrenaline slammed into him in the silence: the joy of having bodies scattered on the ground around you, and none of them yours. The killing power still animating you but nowhere left to put it.

He had crossed the battlefield to her before she had a chance to say anything, not that she was quite as prone to joking after a kill as she had once been, and seized her by the shoulders, pulling her into a kiss that made her drop the sword and grip him by the jaw. She was the only girl who had ever responded to him like this, as hungry and desperate as he was after a brawl. Dru had always been more than happy to absorb his extra energy after a good brawl, but that had been exactly what it was: absorbing. He hadn't known the difference until the first time Buffy had crashed into his arms with hurricane force after a fight, not just absorbing. _Reflecting_.

She was streaked with demon blood and dirt from being thrown into the ground several times, her jacket was torn and her cheekbone was bruised, and she was beautiful, and she was clawing at his face and devouring his mouth like she couldn't breathe anything but the dead air in his lungs.

Christ, she was so hot. So hot against him, vibrating with energy, like she was trying to burrow into his chest. Tearing her mouth away from his, Buffy shoved him to the ground and he went down hard, not expecting the sudden violence.

He landed half-on the arm of something fallen, and rolled off it, making it a few feet towards the water before Buffy pounced on him, landing over his stomach and fastening her mouth back to his. "Pants," she said, breathless, and then, when he took her around the waist and started reaching under her shirt, she split their mouths apart again and growled at him like a lioness. "I said _pants_. Yours. Off."

"Oh. Right." He reached under her legs for his waistband as she lifted up to let him and ripped open the fly — he felt the button tear in the hole — and then used his new leverage to topple her over into the dirt and roll on top of her. "Whoops."

Pinning her down with his body weight was easy, because she was small, and because she let him do it. Her teeth were sharp in his lip, her hands fisting tightly in the lapels of the duster, the leather creaking under her strength. " _Pants_ ," she repeated, in a tone so deadly that it had backed down bigger and stupider demons than Spike.

It was one hell of a turn-on.

He fumbled for his waistband to give her what she wanted, but she didn't let him get the jeans down further than mid-thigh before she was using her grip on him coat to throw him back down to the ground, the breath knocking out of him as she landed straddled across his hips. The power roared in his spine like he was still killing something, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing. "You're my wild girl, Buffy. Glorious."

She spat her response back at him as she was struggling with the waist of her own pants. "I'm _not your girl_." Knelt up over him, righteous Slayer anger on her face and her muscles resonating from the aftershocks of a long, hard fight, her sweaty hair hanging down around her face, she looked like a Slayer's one good day, like his one bad one. There was something soft in him that was aching to take over sliding down her jeans, but instead he sat up off the ground and put his hands up her shirt and kissed her again, until she was biting him and pushing him back down, no hands this time, just the pressure of her upper body on his, the muscles under his hands tightening.

There was a stick under his back that would work if she got real frisky and decided to take out the old heart. But she wouldn't, because she was panting for him now, her hips shoving down into him where he was hard and wanting for her, scraping against the outside of her jeans. It smarted, but it was worth it for the knowledge that he was leaking on the denim, that the cloth would smell like him when she took it off. "Yeah, that's it, Slayer. Come on, come on — "

"Shut up."

He wanted to see her, suddenly, and tore at the back of her jacket until it slid down her shoulders until they were bare and shining under the moon, the crucifix dangling between her breasts catching the light. Then she was down against him again, and the only thing saving him from a nice burn was the shirt he was still wearing. "I'm going to fill you until you're weepin' for me, sweetheart," he murmured, in between kisses.

Buffy bit him again for his trouble.

"But you've gotta get your pants down first."

A stitch popped under her clawing hands and she barely had them down before she was grabbing him in one small, too-strong hand and holding him up to sink down on him, her cunt contracting around him as if protesting the sudden intrusion.

"Already wet for me," he panted, because even if he couldn't feel her, slick around him, he would be able to smell it on the autumn air, over the stench of demon blood and the mossy fog of wet leaves underneath them. "Dripping and lovely. Wish I could put my tongue in you right now, taste that sweet little cunt — "

He grabbed the back of her shirt to tug it up just as she was grinding her hips down on him, and she raised her arms just long enough to let him pull it over her head, and then her breasts were bare, everything from her thighs up a warm expanse of golden skin that moved on him, miles of perfect muscle moving under it. And they were out in a bloody graveyard, down a hill and somewhere anyone could see them, fucking like animals under the open night sky. Buffy some otherworldly creature of the night riding him hard into the ground, gripping him like a lover.

She threw her head back, her messy ponytail tossing behind her, and although it felt better than nearly anything he'd ever experienced, having her pussy hold him tight and perfect, he knew no single muscle twitching in her was for him. This was about his Slayer, taking her pleasure. Her conquest on the battlefield, his cock there for her convenience. It would be a vicious turn-on to be used like that, except that he was stupid enough to be in love with the girl, and the fact that she wasn't looking at him ached like a bruise.

"Look at me," he said, snarled, "look at me, Buffy — " and she did, eyes glowing in the night, fingers twisted tight into the duster like she was holding on for dear life.

"Spike," she gasped, and looked away, and he tightened his body like a bow and sent her over to the ground, her hair spreading in the dirt and her back naked on the ground, her tits flattening with gravity and her legs still gripping his hips so tightly the bones felt like they were bending under her strength.

And then it was his battle-conquest, hands planted in the dirt next to her head, prick slamming into her so hard that she cried out and had to grip him by the wrists to keep from being pushed along the ground by the force of it.

Neither of them were touching her. Neither of them would have to. He took her by the chin and kept her looking at him, her mouth hanging open and her throat bare to him, her life rushing in it. He put his mouth there, teased the vein with his teeth, knowing it would split for him like butter if he shifted faces, and then bit her hard and blunt at the juncture of her neck and shoulder to make her scream for him, muscles constricting around him, vise-tight.

"You like that, don't you, Slayer," he said, and pumped into her like she wasn't the Chosen Girl, the One In All the World. "Like it to sting, like to know you're — "

She came before he could get out the _alive_ , body shaking and legs tightening so forcefully that he could swear he heard a rib crack. Silent, biting her lip until it bled. He licked it off her face, tasting dirt and sweat and Buffy's skin underneath it all, and tugged against the pull of her legs to thrust into her once, twice more. Then she had her hand down between them, rubbing herself, getting what he wanted, and the second climax followed close on the heels of the first, like taking a right cross just after the left jab.

She didn't manage to stay silent this time, throat releasing a high, desperate sound as he bit her again, hard enough to bruise her this time, and then went still in the dirt under him. _Wild girl_ , he thought again, frantic with lust. _Naked under the moon_.

Buffy looked him dead in the eye and then squeezed him so strongly that he could swear she wasn't even tired. He groaned and thrust forward again, almost without meaning to, and when he shuddered over her she hit him hard in the center of the chest and sent him back into the dirt, hair dipping in the cold stream that was running behind them, neck propped up uncomfortably by a rock on the shore.

Then she was crawling over him again and sinking down once more, riding him at a pace that seemed almost impossible to maintain, that should have had her muscles giving out, after a battle that long. "Slayer," he moaned, "Slayer, Buffy — "

"Finish," she barked at him.

He obeyed.


	21. fisting (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you wouldn't BELIEVE the amount of research i had to do to write this chapter. is this the kinkiest thing i've ever written? probably. it's not my kink so who knows

"I really never get tired of this," Spike told her matter-of-factly as he hooked his finger inside her. He tapped gently against the front wall, and then, when she glared at him, pressed harder against the raised area and swirled his finger like he was stirring a drink. "Not that I was expecting to."

Angel had hit her g-spot — repeatedly and with force — but she hadn't known enough about it to find it again by herself later. Parker had been a complete miss; Riley hit or, although that had to be mostly her fault since she hadn't given him much feedback, too embarrassed to speak up. Spike had told her immediately that it was a crying shame she couldn't find it on her own and had shown her exactly how to reach it. It had been a fun lesson even when she had been doing her level best to hate him: Spike had always had something of a flattering relationship with her cunt. He was looking at it now with obvious fondness as he rubbed at her, his thumb occasionally idly stroking her clit.

"I'm glad you two are having so much fun, but I kind of have other stuff planned for tonight that I'd eventually like to get to," she told him, stomach fluttering with the shame of pointing it out.

"You tightened up just there, when you said that," Spike pointed out, grinning at her now. "Can't imagine how good you're going to squeeze me when we really get cooking."

"Two fingers, mister."

He pulled out to slide his middle finger in alongside. He usually started with two, if she was already wet, but he'd made a strong case for taking it slow tonight. Now restored to his usual dexterity, he caught the edges of her sweet spot in between the parted tips of two fingers and pressed, running them around without putting direct pressure on before he closed his fingers slowly, holding it between them with a sort of precarious, interesting pressure. "Tighten up when I do that, too. That feel good, pet? Want me to give you a little more there?"

Buffy nodded, and the tips of his fingers became demanding, stroking strongly along her front wall like he was trying to pull her closer to him. This time she noticed herself squeezing her thighs together, her internal muscles working. It felt good, putting on pressure that made her pussy feel — well, the only way she could describe it was _zing_. He'd laughed madly when she'd said that, but it was true; if having her clit touched was like a bolt of pleasure going up her spine, then having his fingers here was like feeling a deeper, lower electric hum throughout her entire pelvis.

Three fingers was more than they usually bothered with. When he was fingering her, the thickness of the penetration wasn't generally what was important to her. But three wasn't uncharted territory. He had once had her ride three fingers in the graveyard while he whispered filth in her ear and bit her neck until she came. It was one of her fonder memories of their early sexual encounters.

"Look how pretty that is," Spike said reverently, looking her directly between the legs. The first time he had done this, she had been overcome by the urge to hide herself, but — well. At this point it was obvious that he actually, genuinely liked the sight of it. Buffy couldn't really relate. She had looked in a mirror before, and hadn't found it to be much to write home about. "Such a little hole, love, but it's taking me so well. All swollen and lovely around me. Swear you smell sweet as honey."

He bent his head to bring his mouth down to the space just between her hips, then kissed her down to her clit. He sucked, so lightly that it made her ache, and then used his tongue to trace the place where she was stretched and hot around him. It wasn't so cool as his fingers had been when he had first touched her — he had had it in her mouth too recently for that — but it felt more like a soothing touch than a sexual one, in some ways. Lapping at her like he was cleaning her, although the spark in his eyes when he flicked them up, nose buried in her cleft, to meet her own eyes, said _this is a hundred percent sexual_.

Before he withdrew, he put his lips against her clit and hummed, a soft rumble that jittered its way through her and made her buck her hips in a way that drove his fingers satisfyingly into her. "If I could live on drinking this, I would. Wake you up every morning with my tongue, put you to sleep every night with it. Hell, just chain me to the bed and ride my face whenever you're feeling frisky. Moment I develop the ability to survive off your cunt you know I'm never leaving bed again."

How was it that being turned on made the stupidest sentences sound hot? Buffy bit her lip and swallowed and said, "Another."

"Let me just," he started, and then bent down to seal his mouth over her apex and twist his tongue around her clit until she arched against the pleasure of it, trying to pull herself closer with her legs around his shoulders. When he raised his head, his chin was shining and he was grinning like a pleased housecat. "There, see?"

"Oh — " There were four fingers inside, she realized. He had wriggled his pinky in while she had been feeling too good to notice it. It didn't ache, not quite. He was bigger than his fingers, and she took him regularly. But they were shaped less evenly than his cock, and his joints rubbed at her rim, harder and more unyielding than she was used to. "Is that going to work next time?"

"Nah," Spike told her, but he didn't say he wasn't going to try it, which meant that he was. "By the time we get my knuckles in you're not going to be able to think about a damn thing other than what's inside you. Even if I tapdance on this lovely little button here — " he tapped her clit with his tongue, " — and sing I Wish I Was in Dixie, you're not going to be able to distract yourself from having my hand stretching you out."

Buffy shuddered, and when he grinned at her again she knew that her cunt had tightened revealingly around his four fingers, crushing his joints together as he slid them in and out of her, teasing his knuckles at the edge of her opening without ever putting enough pressure for them to sink in.

"Got another spot to show you about," Spike murmured, bending down to kiss her belly. "Couple of inches up. Can't reach it, usually — but now it'll be right easy. Get you wetter'n anything I've seen yet; you'll be gushing around my fingers, practically."

She squared her jaw and spread her legs further. "Like I'm not now?"

"Oh, you always get wet for me, kitten. But I mean you're going to drip right down my wrist."

Buffy made a little noise at that and he started licking her again, tongue swiping through her folds — so soft and cool and dextrous against her — poking into every gap between his fingers and her hole he could find, and ending at her clit.

Then he slid his hand forward, and the ridge of his knuckles teased at her opening. Buffy made a noise and he stopped immediately, fastened his mouth back over her clit, and sucked, twisting his wrist like he was trying to screw his hand inside her. "You know what we're going to do, Buffy?" he asked, withdrawing only enough to speak to her. "We're going to relax you."

His teeth sparked against her nub and his tongue laid itself against her, flat and strong. His fingers curled inside her, sending that deep ache through her, relentless pulsing pressure until she clenched around him and writhed. Right as it felt like it was building to some sort of a peak, Spike hummed against her, a low tight rumble that vibrated through her and sent her rocketing over the edge. He grunted at the pressure on his hand, but didn't withdraw it.

"Reckon you'd break my hand if I were a tad more fragile," he told her, sounding amused. "If you manage to do in my wrist I'm gonna buy you flowers. A man's got to reward good effort."

Buffy would laugh, except that as soon as she had stopped twitching with pleasure, he had taken advantage of her softening muscles to ease his knuckles into her, and now she was wondering if she'd ever had anything so — no, she couldn't have. Angel had been big, but not this big. Spike was always crooning praise at her about her tightness, how good she felt, but this was the first time she'd been really aware, in technicolor, of her body straining to take him. It didn't exactly _hurt_ , but it felt like close to too much, as if — thinking about her body as a rubber band — she was nearly ready to snap.

When he rotated his wrist a desperate gasp was pushed out of her lungs, and he stopped, looking her in the eye. "How's it feel, love?"

"It's... um... a lot," she managed, and then bit her lip.

He didn't back off, but he bent up and teased her lip out of her mouth with his teeth. "Yeah, sweetheart. I know. But you can take it. Breathe for me, Buffy."

She took a deliberate, deep breath, and he held still, letting her get used to the width of his knuckles. "That's not even all of it," she said, and he nodded.

"Keep breathing." His hand eased in a little further, and he used his other hand to rub her belly. When he got up to the broadest part, just where the base of his thumb was, he winked at her and bent his fingers. For a moment, she was about to tell him to stop — it made his knuckles bulge and it was almost too much again — but then the pad of his middle finger made contact with something that made her moan. "There you are," he murmured, and trailed his mouth down her sternum, his finger still stroking away at her. "That's my girl."

"What is — "

"Oh, I dunno. But does it feel good?"

Buffy nodded her head frantically and realized, blushing, that she could actually feel herself getting slicker, in that when he moved his hand it felt like a smoother slide. "Uh huh."

"Good." Without further ado, he kissed her back over her clit — kissed his own palm where it was halfway inside her, nose tickling at her cleft — and got back to running his tongue along her labia, stretched around his hand, delicately teasing her clit with his teeth. He tongued her into another orgasm, fingers gently massaging her inside while he kept her just there, on the edge of more, open around him.

When she loosened around him again, coming down from the spasms of her climax, he tucked his thumb in against his hand, and his knuckles moved inside her as he squeezed them together and pressed forward.

Buffy bit her lip so hard it bled, and his hand over her stomach kept her hips from moving in a way that might hurt her. "Oh," she sighed, when the widest part of his hand had passed, and her pussy started to close back up around his wrist. "That feels — "

"That's bloody incredible." Spike was looking at her with wide blue eyes, as if he'd never seen anything quite so amazing. "Look at you."

She couldn't see herself, but she could see his forearm, could almost see to the place where he was buried in her. Could feel him, deep inside her, stretching her out, like he had to fight against her muscles to stay there. The smooth skin of his wrist snuggled tight inside her. When you really thought about it, it _was_ amazing.

Spike was clearly in the middle of the first religious experience he'd had in a long time. "Christ, you're so hot — "

Buffy grinned at him, weakly, like she didn't want to squirm herself down on him. "Want me to try to break your wrist?"

He laughed. "Do your worst, Slayer."

When she tightened her muscles, he twisted his hand, knuckles pressing hard against that spot halfway up her walls, and then her reaction was automatic. She clamped down in pleasure, and he made a wounded noise and let his hand slide partway out before he pushed it back in, fucking her with the base of his hand, letting her open around it before she could close again around the girth of his wrist. It should be impossible. It should hurt. But it didn't. Not in a way she didn't like, anyway.

He was seated inside her deeper than he'd ever been before and Buffy closed her eyes and pushed her hips against him, feeling him jostle up against her g-spot and then keep rocking his knuckle against it as he fucked her in increments.

"It better go back to normal after this," she panted, trying to sound annoyed instead of just overwhelmed by arousal. Spike was panting right along with her, watching his hand sliding back and forth.

"Please tell me I can put my tongue in you after this," he said, ignoring her. "I'll beg you for it if you make me. Fuck, I'll beg even if you don't."

She had to be hurting his hand now with how tight she was pulling herself around him, but his facial expression didn't budge from _I have been stabbed in the gut and I love it_. "Spike, please — "

He put his mouth on her like he was dying for it, tongue again running along the place where his wrist disappeared into her before he started working her clit so hard she could have mistaken it for a quickie if not for the fact that they were both fully nude. His cock was riding against her leg, so hard that it had to hurt where he was rutting helplessly against her.

Finally, he shoved the tip of his thumb against her sweet spot, and tapped her clit with his tongue unceasingly, and she muffled a scream into her palm as she squeezed down around him, hard, and came with a sort of dizzying rush that felt almost like she _was_ dripping down his wrist, like he'd said she would.

He made a guttural sound at the squeeze and then stopped moving his hand, dropping his free one from her stomach to wrap around himself. "So tight, Buffy," he gasped against her. It only took three jerks of his hand before he was releasing himself up the inside of her knee, hand twitching inside her as his body trembled. "Bloody fantastic cunny," he said, when he had caught his breath. "Bloody fantastic girl. Say I can lick you out."

"I don't know." Buffy wrinkled her nose and shifted uncomfortably as her body started to push his hand out. There was a sort of deep muscle ache seated inside her in the space he was leaving, delicious, like the satisfying tiredness after a good hard slay. "I think I'm gonna be kind of sore."

"I'll make it so good for you," he wheedled. "At least let me kiss you here."

She sighed, trying to act put-upon. "Well, I suppose."


	22. voyeurism (spuffy + angel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the big question about this chapter is, who proposed this, and why did the others agree? this is the kind of question i considered before i started writing but then decided against answering. i have some possible answers and i will put all of them in the end note and you can pick your favorite

"Hey, mate, d'you reckon you want to pass me my girlfriend anytime soon?"

"No," Angel said, and kissed Buffy again, in part because he always wanted to kiss Buffy and in part because it was funny to watch Spike groan and let his head fall back onto the pillows.

But Buffy walked backwards towards the bed, pulling out of his hands with a last kiss, and pointed at the chair in the corner. It was basically a cheap porn setup, which meant that either Spike had put the chair there as a laugh, or Buffy had put it there in utter seriousness. "Sit," she said, tone brooking no disagreement.

Angel sat, and watched the love of his life walk directly into Spike's arms. Which, admittedly, would probably hurt more if there hadn't been intervening Cordelia and if Buffy hadn't _just_ been kissing him. Not to mention that there was potentially a little redemption in this, because he seemed to remember Spike's anguished face while he had had Dru squealing under him back in Sunnydale.

Spike kissed just like he always had when left to his own devices: sound and deep, taking Buffy's face between his hands and pulling her down to him until she went tender in his arms, slumping down against his bare torso.

His hands traveled back through her hair, slipping like molten gold between his fingers, and Angel knew that that was for him. Showing off the color, the length of it. Then one pale finger trailed down the curve of her back, until it reached the hem of her shirt and he started to trail it back up, dragging the fabric with it and revealing progressively each inch of tanned skin.

Well, Angelus had taught him how to put on a show. And Buffy, like Dru, was well worth showing.

The top came over her head, and then there were just the thin white straps of her bra across her back. At least until Spike lobbed the shirt at him and hit him in the face. By the time he dropped it next to the chair, re-clearing his vision, Spike already had her naked to the waist. "Impatient," he muttered, and Spike held up two fingers at him behind her back.

Buffy's breath was coming in soft huffs as Spike's hand flattened against her back, and then his thumbs were hooked in her waistband and pushing it down her legs. It was one of those little skirts she had used to wear, the ones she didn't wear anymore. She had probably worn it for his benefit. Probably put on that white underwear this morning and looked in the mirror and bit her lip and wondered if it was perfect. And then she'd probably looked at Spike and asked what he thought and he'd probably said two things: first, something insulting about Angel's manhood and second, something that would have made her smile about how she would look beautiful in a potato sack.

Which was true. Buffy had changed since she was seventeen. She'd lost what little baby fat had filled out the curve of her stomach, of her chin. She didn't spend as much time on her hair, or in worrying about where each calorie she ate would go. She had been powerful then, but she _looked_ it now, lean and corded and deadly. But she was still beautiful — of course she was. Spike had coaxed her into a sitting position as they got off her skirt, and the plane of her side was sharper than it had been, her ribs more prominent, her hip more defined.

"Give him a show, pet," Spike told her, running his hands down her sides, so lightly it was barely there — a way to make the hair on her arms stand up, to make her drip with the pleasure of anticipation — something Angelus had taught him. "Turn around."

Buffy did, now naked. The little swells of her breasts were high and round, her belly tight with muscle, legs spread around Spike's knees as she looked at Angel, and blushed, and then leaned her head back against Spike's shoulder to let him kiss her neck. His mouth ghosted just over the marks that Angel's teeth had left, eyes flicking up to meet Angel's with clear challenge.

It wasn't the night for rising to it. Angel sat back and opened his knees and met the gaze steadily.

Spike's hands were traveling up Buffy's waist to her breasts, cupping them to emphasize them for a moment before he stroked his thumbs over her nipples to make her shiver. When his tongue flashed out to trace over Angel's fangmarks, she made a soft noise.

"Spread 'em, lover," Spike purred in her ear, and Buffy's hands fell to her thighs to part them further, her face going red when his hands covered hers and dragged them up to her cunt, parting her lips and releasing the scent of her arousal into the air. She made a low embarrassed noise, and Angel hummed at her.

"You're beautiful, Buffy." The knot in his stomach, the bulge growing in his pants, were proof enough of that.

Buffy met his eyes and gave him a smile, and Spike kissed her neck from behind, letting her hands go to slide the fingers of his left hand down her pelvis, the middle and ring fingers burying themselves inside her with a faint slick noise. She took in a deep breath, and the tendons in the back of his hand flexed, a motion which Angel knew from experience was his palm rubbing against her clit.

"Get yourself out," Angel told him. "She wants you."

Spike looked at him over Buffy's shoulder, an annoyed look in his eyes. "You've fucked me more times than you've fucked her, why aren't you giving _her_ pointers?"

"Buffy's already perfect."

"Suck up."

Buffy started giggling almost helplessly, and then took her hands off herself to reach between her legs and pull out Spike's cock, which was — well, he'd just seen it, but this was the first time in a while he'd seen it hard — naturally, just as it had always been. _Nothing to write home about_ , Angelus had told him a couple of times, when he had wanted to make him upset. It had been sort of a lie.

Held between Buffy's thighs while she raised herself on her knees, it looked obscene. Angel shifted in his chair, watching Spike's fingers pumping in and out of her, shining with slick. She hadn't been this wet on the night of her birthday; probably too nervous. "Now, usually," Spike said casually, "I'd eat you out right about now. But if I give Peaches here a shot like that at my arse I won't be walking out of here. Besides, I've got it on reliable authority that you want me."

Angel rolled his eyes, but Buffy seemed to find it amusing. She grabbed Spike's wrist and used it to tug his hand free, lining herself up over him with her other hand. He rested his newly-free hand over her belly, stroking her wetness across her skin as she guided herself down.

Her lips stretched around him, pink and swollen, and she dropped down slow, leaning back against Spike's chest with her back arched like she was trying to give him the best possible view of the shaft disappearing inside her. "Oh, Buffy," Spike said, sounding overcome. "There you are. So good."

"You always were desperate to take it slow," Angel commented, and Spike growled as Buffy finally hilted him, her pussy split open around him, her legs spread and muscles twitching spasmodically.

"Shut up, Liam." His left hand was playing with her clit again, the right resting against her hip. "Buffy, look up for me, sweetheart. Look how hard you're getting him, hmm? How hard you've gotten me. He's seeing you and I'm feeling you, love. Tight and beautiful and bloody perfect."

"Suck up," Angel muttered.

"Granda, why don't you go on and tell her what you want and we'll see if she's feeling giving?"

Buffy squirmed, and Angel watched her, the play of her muscles under her skin, her hair getting sweaty at the temples as she quivered with the effort of holding still. "I want you to ride him, Buffy."

She lifted herself and obeyed, biting her lip while her eyes started to screw shut. This position was good, Angel knew, for scraping hard up against her g-spot, and from the slippery sounds of her moving around him, that was certainly being achieved.

Spike was murmuring in in her ear, and if he wasn't a vampire, he wouldn't be able to hear it, but — well, that was what Spike got for forgetting that some people's senses were just as good as his. "Gorgeous," he said. "You feel so good on me, Buffy. Is it making you hot, love? Knowing he can see you, down here where you're all stretched around me. Bet he'll draw dirty pictures of this for weeks. Think about your pretty cunt while he's having a sad wank in the shower. Dreaming about how hot you are inside."

Buffy was panting now, bouncing on him at a clip that made her breasts jiggle, her hair tossing behind her over his shoulder as she rocked on him, keeping him low inside her, releasing only a few inches at a time. Spike licked her throat like he was preparing her for a bite — another thing Angelus had taught him — and she whimpered.

"This isn't the sort of cunny you have only once," Spike said in her ear, because neither of them had any idea how many times Angel had had her, when he'd had the chance. When he'd been human. "Which is why he's here now. Gotta see you. You move like a piece of art, woman. If it wouldn't drive me so bleeding crazy to let someone else have you, I'd want to be on that chair with him."

Angel was hard enough now that it hurt, and he rubbed the heel of his hand over the ridge of it in his pants to relieve the ache. Buffy gasped when she saw him doing it, and rode harder. Seeing her turned on by watching him made it worse, and if Spike hadn't specifically told him that he'd bite his dick off if he saw it before Buffy had gotten off, he would have taken it out to stroke it.

He could wait. Buffy's stomach muscles were twitching, so it wouldn't be long.

Spike was drawing rough circles around her clit now. "That's it, Buffy. Tighten up for me. Give it over." He raised his voice. "Old man, why don't you tell her what you want now?"

Angel smiled at her and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I want you to come for me, Buffy."

From the look he got over her shoulder, Spike didn't care for his phrasing, but he didn't object when she started moving her hips faster, grinding on him almost frantically, and then shook in his arms, head falling back in abandon. In fact, his eyes slid closed like he couldn't help it, mouth opening in an o while she gripped him — Angel could remember the grasp of those muscles, he understood — and the orgasm ripped through her like a weapon.

When she came down, she looked dizzy and flushed and like she had forgotten that both of them were in the room, which, for Angel, was ideal, and for Spike, probably a little insulting, given that he was inside her. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her chest and belly that made her glisten under the light.

Spike was right, he should draw her like this. Probably edit out the idiot behind her.

"Think we can get another few out of you," Spike said, finally, and rolled her over onto the covers. "See if you can't look him in the eye this time, pet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) buffy suggested it (because she thinks it's hot), angel said no but meant yes (because he's horny but also self-sacrificing), spike said yes but meant no (because he's whipped but also possessive)
> 
> 2) spike suggested it (because what better revenge for angelus constantly fucking dru than fucking buffy in front of angel), buffy said, spike it sounds to me like you're maybe being vindictive (but also yes because she thinks it's hot), angel said oh no, spike, what a punishment, having to see two hot people fuck, how could i possibly be presumed upon to do such a thing, fine buffy i guess i'll do it but only for you
> 
> 3) angel suggested it (because if he bangs buffy himself he could go all evil but on the other hand, how could you go your whole life without seeing buffy's boobs again), buffy said yes because she still thinks it's hot, spike said, hey don't i get any say in this, buffy and angel were like of course you do but spike folds like wet cardboard every time buffy bats her cute lil eyelashes
> 
> the most rational option is that obviously they regularly swing with angel when they pass through la


	23. daddy kink (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mari cribmas, have some truly appalling filth

"What, lad, are you jealous? Want to be fucked how I fuck Darla?"

That smile, wide and white, meant danger. Will blinked at him and shook his head. "I said — no. I said you're different with her. It's just an observation. You're different with Dru, too."

"What, you'd prefer the way I fuck Dru?"

Dealing with Angelus was like dealing with a bear: no sudden moves, speak calmly, don't run. He held up his glass and tried to look relaxed. "I'm happy having a drink."

One big hand swirled the glass, tipping it back and forth to make the amber liquid caress the sides, release its scent into the air between them. "Have a drink we will, my boy. And then a tumble, as you wish."

And, if the bear attacks anyway, play along. Will raised his glass to his lips and knocked it back, then set it with a hollow clunk on the side table, turning to Angelus and raising his eyebrow.

"I think you'd play a better Dru than Darla," Angelus told him, sipping his own liquor with languid pleasure. From the look in his eyes when he dragged them over his body, Will really might be Dru. When the two of them fucked, it was about _power_ : Angelus putting him in his place, taking him in hand. Sometimes it was like that with Dru, too — but other times, it was just about Angelus' love of beautiful things. He was looking at Will like that now, like he was appraising him to be sold. An expression not so aloof as usual, and not so aggressive.

It shamed him a little to find that being looked at like that sent a hot shiver through him, made him want to somehow earn it more often. "I play an even better William."

Angelus gave him an amused look, like an indulgent parent humoring a child who had made a bad joke, and finished his drink. "Come here, my boy."

Will looked at him and Angelus put his drink down on the side table and spread his arms. "Sire?"

"No, Will, that's what _you_ call me." It was never wise to make Angelus tell you anything twice. He had a fondness for beating lessons in, and so Will slipped out of the chair, feeling unaccountably small and nervous, and let himself be pulled down into Angelus' lap. One big hand came to rest on the small of his back, and the other took him by the chin, making Will hold his eyes. "Now, what does Dru call me?"

Christ. The silence stretched. He didn't sound much like Dru when he finally said it — she was exuberant about it, but he couldn't seem to notch his voice above a whisper. "Daddy."

Angelus had a smile that made you want to keep him smiling, and he broke it out now, looking handsome and amiable with it on his face. "Good lad."

That phrase roiled in him, and as it did, Angelus dropped his chin and laid his hand on his hip, and Will went with his guidance without resistance, swinging a leg over his lap to sit astride him. He would do any number of things for those words from Angelus' lips, and this was, if anything, the least of them. Instead of instructing Will to strip himself, as usual, Angelus raised his own fingers to the line of Will's waistcoat and started undoing it, then to the shirt underneath.

That was right. He liked to unwrap Dru, like the present she had been once. Will swallowed hard, and let him do it. When he was naked to the waist, Angelus took him by the arse and lifted him into his arms, standing with him so smoothly that Will didn't think to wriggle free before it happened.

"I can bloody well walk!" he said, indignantly.

"Aye, and our Dru's less of a brat," Angelus replied, as if that had been remotely what he had said. And if the girls saw them at this, Will would never live it down, so he tucked his face into the side of Angelus' neck as if he could hide from her there and tried not to see anything they were passing. "And if you want me to do anything for you this evening, Will, you know what you'll be calling me."

He did, but the word tasted so odd in his mouth. Not natural like it was for Dru — it felt like something he ought to blush saying. Will pressed his lips together, and Angelus fell onto the bed with him still caught in his arms, bearing him down heavy and solid and rubbing his hardness into the ridge of Will's hip. When Will shifted his legs together — he was very much familiar with the Greek methods, how to make a tight space with his thighs, thanks to Angelus — Angelus stopped him with a hand on each knee and grinned.

"What d'you say, Will?"

Will didn't answer him.

"Let's get these things off, my boy," Angelus said, as if ignoring his disobedience, which was unusual when they were in bed together. With Dru, it was not so unusual. The hands started tugging at his trousers, and he lifted his hips to let Angelus pull them off and then tuck himself back between Will's thighs, still fully-clothed in the face of his nakedness. He usually preferred to have Will on his belly, so Will rarely had the experience of seeing him as he was: a great looming figure, shoulders so broad they blotted out the lamplight. "Now, you're not so good for this as our Dru," he continued, and Will felt a finger trail down his shaft. "Since you don't slick yourself. But I think we can do just as well with a bit of work."

The finger made its way back across his balls and then across the short sensitive space behind them until it was rubbing at his hole. He didn't do things like this with Will — Will grew irate being teased too long, whereas Dru thrashed and begged prettily. But there it was. One rough Irish thumb, circling him gently until it felt like every nerve in his body had traveled south and he was wishing the great sod would just do it already, just dive inside. And if not that, at least wrap a hand around him where his prick lay against his belly, twitching and leaking. When he tried to reach for himself, Angelus smacked his fingers away, a stinging connection.

"Now, Will. What d'you say?"

"Touch me — " He swallowed and felt the word starting to come up, hot in his stomach. He wanted desperately to cover his face, but instead just turned his head to the side, baring his throat. " — Daddy."

"That's it." Angelus gave him that smile again, and put his fingers snug around Will's shaft, working him until precome was puddling on his belly. Just as he was starting to make little huffs of pleasure and rock his hips up into the grip, just as his balls were starting to tighten, Angelus stopped.

"No!" Will cried, barely remembering the game, or that Dru wouldn't say no to her daddy. Ignoring him, Angelus swiped his fingers through the fluid pooling between Will's hips. Returned that hand between his legs to press them, dripping, against his hole. "Please," he begged, without thinking about it, and Angelus chuckled at him, bringing his fingers back up to wet them again.

"Best have you slick as a cunt," he told Will, and smiled wolfishly. "Dru's never dry for me. Gushes as soon as I spread her legs, but she's still tight as she was the day I turned her. Now, Will, let's hear who it is you're begging for more."

"You," Will said immediately, and Angelus slipped a finger into him. "I meant — _Daddy_ — "

"Beg all you like, lad. But remember who I am." The broad finger disappeared from him and came back dripping again, and again, until Will was sure it was Angelus' goal to fill him with his own spend. When a second finger pried him open, he could feel the purpose of the exercise running down between his legs, slick and wet. When Angelus finally got inside him, he thought it might make a noise, like it did when the girls were already soaked with them.

When he brought his hand to his face like he could hide his reaction to that thought, Angelus grabbed his wrist with his free hand and pinned it over his head, eyes sending him the clear and flinty message that he was not permitted to escape that way. Dru had never had the option of looking away, even with her eyes closed, and neither would he.

He never gave it to Dru until she begged, either. Kept her all writhing and twisting like Will was now, until she broke, and he knew she really _needed_ him.

Will wasn't as patient as that. What he _was_ was willing to debase himself for the sake of his aching cock, lying uselessly across his stomach, wanting badly for a hand or the tight muscles of Angelus' abdomen rubbing against it. "Daddy, inside. Inside me."

"Louder."

"Daddy," he repeated, and Angelus gave his fingers a cruel twist, bumping against that place inside him that spiked ecstasy through his blood, so pure it nearly hurt to be touched that hard.

"Where are your manners, lad?"

Will gritted his teeth and struggled not to curse him to whatever hell teasing bastards went to. " _Please_ , Daddy."

The fingers drew out with a soft, wet sound. "Please Daddy what?"

He growled, and narrowed his eyes as Angelus pulled himself out of his trousers. " _Put it in me_."

Angelus laughed, and sheathed himself in one fluid motion that burned exquisitely and sent Will into a high choking noise at the stretch of it. It was a revelation every time, the size of him once he was inside. Thick and hard and if he were human, would it be warm? Would it sit in him so well if it could heat him from within? "Wet as a lass, you are," Angelus rumbled at him.

"Don't say that."

One dark eyebrow lifted as Angelus started to fuck him in little rolling motions. "And all your own juice. A little of me now, perhaps, in you." His fangs flashed. "Or not so little."

"I'm not going to compliment your prick," Will told him, and then paused. "Daddy."

"Why not, Will?" Was that amusement or anger in his eyes? With Angelus, it could be either. One hand went around his throat, and held him in place as his hips picked up in earnest, hard sharp thrusts that forced desperate sounds out of him. "Tell me how you love it, boy."

"Ooh, Daddy, you're so bloody big," he spat, high-pitched and mocking, and Angelus smacked him across the face. Not hard enough to split his lip or rattle his teeth, but enough to let Will know he meant business. Enough to make him arch against the pain of it, opening his throat like he was asking for more. And maybe he was. Angelus wasn't giving him the power he usually did.

"Try again."

"It's good," he managed. "Be good if you did it harder — " A vindictive thrust knocked the air out of him. " — good, Daddy, do it again — "

"Not so hard, now, was it?"

Will was clinging to his shoulders now, the way Dru did near the end of a good rogering, the way he realized now that you had to if you couldn't brace against the bed like you could when you were on your belly. Otherwise the mad bastard would toss him straight into the headboard with the force of it.

"Beg me," Angelus suggested, almost casually, as if he weren't so low down over Will that he could feel every square inch of him, as if his prick weren't spreading him open, his hips wedged between his thighs. He seemed more commanding this way. Stronger. "If you want your end away, you'll have to."

The pleasure was building in him, and Angelus wasn't even touching his prick, his hands braced on either side now of Will's head as he shoved into him, no longer bothering to try to hold him still. He didn't think about it before he started. "Please, Sire, stroke me — "

"Who am I, Will?"

"Daddy," he panted. "Daddy, please." And bloody hell, he sounded like Dru. Not quite squealing, but high and needy. When he shut his teeth over the next try it came out as half a scream.

"Say it," Angelus growled in his ear. "None of that."

His jaw pried itself open again. "Daddy, please, I need you to — please, I want to — "

The big hand, sticky with dried slick, clasped him tight. The dark eyes bored into him, so hypnotic he couldn't look away, could only bow his back to take him deeper and screw up his face, his hips jolting into the grasp, straining towards climax.

The word came out a strangled yell when Angelus bit into him, just the way it did when Dru shrieked it in her pleasure. " _Daddy_!"

His body twisted nearly off the bed, up against the man over him, who was an immovable object as he groaned raggedly and spent inside him.

Angelus' heavy body slumped on top of him, smearing his spend between their bodies. "Liked it, did you?" he said, after a long while, accent thicker than usual. "Being fucked like our Dru."

Will wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he didn't quite get the words out of his mouth, which he privately wanted to attribute to the 200 pounds of vampire lying on him. He opened his mouth instead and then closed it. He bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

He nodded.


	24. sexting (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this drunk and i want to say i edited it sober but that's not true because i didn't edit it at all and also i'm still drunk
> 
> left is buffy, right is spike

**Friday, 8:25 P.M., during a Scooby meeting**

What are you wearing

nothing but a cock ring and two band-aids over my nipples

you're looking at me, slayer, you know what i'm wearing

I'm wearing red

not unless i've gone colourblind without noticing it

wait

buffy

:)

**Thursday, 12:19 A.M., during patrol**

Where are you

getting laid

No you aren't

i could be

i'm not your boyfriend, i can stick it wherever i want to

Are we having sex tonight or not?

get naked

**Saturday, 4:34 P.M., during second shift at the DMP**

Bored

condolences

What are you doing

taking a long walk on the beach, getting cozy with a king james, the usual

why, were you hoping for nudes

Spike!!!

Buffy!!!

kind of

atta girl

whole boat or just the bait and tackle?

I desperately want to forget that you just said that

and yet, the image of my boat, bait, and tackle is going to be burned into your spank bank for the rest of your life

Don't be disgusting

still want a pic of my cock or are we pretending you don't love me disgusting

I changed my mind

you lost your nerve's more like it

Stop texting me

d'you ever get sick of telling yourself over and over again that it doesn't mean anything and you don't really want me, only to have your thighs clench up the next time you see me? only to get wet remembering the things i do to you. unless you get the message through to your cunt about my all-access pass being revoked you'll be back in my bed before the week is out

i bet you're blushing straight to the tits right now

Blocking you

real cute. you're going to unblock me the very second your fingers stop doing my job for you

**Tuesday, 2:18 A.M., after patrol**

I'm coming over

wear something sexy

Wear nothing

what am i, the slayer's personal vampire sex slave?

actually, i could get behind that. give me a mo to put on my face and dig up the chains

who am i kidding? with you coming around on the regular, i never have to dig much for them

Shut up

relax, slayer, they're for me

gotta keep your personal vampire sex slave all tied up or he might get away

I've been meaning to ask if you have a gag I can use on you every time we do this

So that I can avoid you saying dumb things like that

no but if you shove your panties in my mouth i'll consider behaving

Ew

spoken truly like a girl who has never tasted herself

WHY would I do that

what, you're not even a little curious?

NO

your loss

you know if you did try it nobody would know but us

I'm not trying it because it's gross

don't knock it until you've tried it

also, as the world's current leading expert in the taste of your cunt, believe me: it is far from gross

Still not trying it

Wait have you

of course i bloody well have

what do i look like, a coward?

Usually

well now you're just trying to be hurtful

pro tip: works better when you aren't currently en route to a hot date with my prick

Reconsidering

i'd believe that more if i couldn't hear those cute little heels of yours cooling outside my door

c'mon in, slayer, the water's nice

and i can't get these chains as tight as you'd like 'em by myself

**Wednesday, 3:42 P.M., during a Scooby meeting**

Stop staring at me

don't look so eminently shaggable then

These are my slaying clothes. They are not sexy

you trying to tell me those jeans i want to see if i can fit my hands in aren't sexy? that shirt i can see your hard little nipples through isn't sexy? if you didn't want me to stare, maybe you ought to have invested in a bra

Someone is going to see you!!!!

and if someone had any taste at all they'd be staring too

WHAT are you doing

tossing off, what does it look like

That is EXACTLY what it looks like

so why ask

Because we're in PUBLIC

odd, wasn't aware that affected human eyesight

you know what would make me stop? if you would mince that sweet little arse of yours over to the back door and step out to wait for me

then YOU can touch me

Keep dreaming, Spike

no problem

picture this

me crawling under the table to eat your pussy

STOP

spreading your knees, pulling aside whatever lacy little underthings you think i don't know you're wearing today, slipping my tongue up you nice and easy

whoops, i'll stop

[...] OK actually don't stop

knew it

you love my mouth, baby, which makes proper sense since it loves you so bloody much. reckon i could get off just thinking about kissing you there. getting my lips around that hard little nub of yours, sucking you proper

back door looking any better to you?

[...] I can't just leave right now we're in the middle of a meeting

so tell them we're going to go kill things

easy 

I can't keep sneaking out with you

yes, you can

how else are you going to get those pretty legs all wrapped around my ears? who's gonna grind my nose into her clit? i mean, really, luv, somebody's got to see to your pussy and you know i can get it done better than anybody else. wring you out until you're half-comatose and not thinking about a damn thing but my cock in you 

[...] slayer, what are you doing?

What does it look like

really tempted to make a crack about my virtue but on the other hand i'm distracted by how bloody hot you are

are we going to see if you can get off without screaming

[...] i can see you reading these

[...] all right, a couple of items for your consideration while you're at it:

1) you smell like a whorehouse and you've got me hard as stones thinking about burying myself in you; you're too much woman to be doing a thing like this in here without making every red-blooded male who knows what you're doing soil his bloody trousers wanting you

2) i can see your arm moving and if harris shifts his eyes about two ticks to the left he will too

but you don't care, do you? this has you all hot and heavy, thinking they might see you. you're getting off on it, same way you did when i fingered you in that stupid club. if i had you out in the alley you'd be panting like a bitch in heat thinking about the idea of them hearing you scream

shift over for me, luv, spread your legs and angle your hips down and just rub off against the edge of the seat. it'll be less obvious

there you go. can't stop you getting a little red in the cheeks, though. you've got a body made for this, buffy

you're so bloody close 

just so you know, red's girl knows what you're doing

[...] What

hmm

don't think i've ever seen anybody pull their hand out of their panties that fast

Spike if you were just messing with me I'm going to stake you

no, she really does know

but she's known since the beginning, and i did wait until you were about to finish to tell you

so:

me

you

back door

?

Fine

But only so I can kick your ass

i'd like to see you try with your inner thighs sticking together

I'd like to see you try and stop me with that thing in your pants

see me laughing? that's me laughing at the idea that i'm not always hard when we're fighting

i'm at the top of my fighting game when i'm hard


	25. bondage (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's a question, after i'm done with this should i do a 26-day alphabet au situation

Spike peered over his shoulder at her and raised his eyebrow. "You know, love, if a vamp ever gets close enough to let you do this, I think you've already won good and proper."

Buffy was winding the dark, slippery rope around itself to form a slim, twisting column between his shoulderblades, and didn't look up. "Yeah, but what if I want to have fun with him first?"

"Better bring a chain and toss me a stake first so I don't have to watch."

"Ha." She looped it around under his arm and around his shoulder, then did the other arm. Then, for good measure, did it again. "Like I'd tell you if I was going to go all Eternal Lover."

"Buffy, pet, vampire here. You've already done the full Shadow Concubine."

"You don't count."

"If you didn't have me all bloody hogtied I'd really light into you for that."

Buffy tugged on the rope, now secured, holding his arms snugly bent behind his back, his chest bent outwards. "Uh huh. But you're all 'can't move boy' right now." She paused. The rope wrapped around his upper arms, pushing his shoulders forward, and then over his shoulders like a harness, and then it cradled his forearms below the central supporting knot. "Because if you know what's good for you you are so _not_ gonna snap these."

"Ooh, mistress," he said, sing-song. "Still got my legs, anyhow."

"They're not going to do you much good," Buffy pointed out to him, and flipped him onto his back. He looked up at her with a grin on his face and waggled his eyebrows. "You know, it's a good thing you don't have circulation or your hands would totally go numb."

"Do have a lower back that cramps, though."

"Old man."

"Just to be clear, lover, you're damn close to being older'n I ever got." Spike tipped his head at her and smirked. "Now, how can we serve you? Since you've put my arse facing down I assume you won't be rogering me, and since my hands are on that side at the moment, none of the old slap and tickle either. Said my legs wouldn't do me any good, so I can assume the old hips'll be out of commission for the event. So, sitting on my face, are we?"

Buffy frowned at him.

"Got it in one, huh?"

"No," Buffy lied, and reached out to put her fingers in the corners of his mouth to force him to stop grinning. "Get on your knees."

"Someday when you say that it's not going to sound like you want to add a 'buster' at the end," Spike told her, slithering his legs off the bed and then flexing his middle to bring himself briefly upright before he hit the carpet and then spun on one knee to face her. The deep blue ropes around his biceps and chest strained when he tried to roll his shoulders. Then Buffy swung her legs off the bed and crossed them at the knee. He raised his eyebrow. " _That's_ going to make this a bit harder, to be honest with you."

"Earn it."

This time his grin was slower. "Pry your knees apart with my words, huh?"

"Actually, don't speak."

Spike looked delighted and made a cat noise at her. Then he bent forward and licked a stripe up her bare leg. When his nose bumped her hip, he looked up at her, blue eyes all heat. When he dipped back down, stopping to press a kiss against the side of her knee, the ridge of her shin, his stomach flattened down against his folded legs, and he kissed the top of her foot. Buffy bit her lip at the graceful show of supplication, the pale line of his back with the blue rope laid dark against it.

When he kissed his way back up her leg and then rested his chin, for a brief moment, against her knee, Buffy thought about uncrossing her legs, but decided that would be too easy.

Then he sat back on his heels and looked at her. _Looked at her_ looked at her. Hungry eyes, mouth just a little open. Tongue teasing at the front ridge of his teeth, like he could barely wait for her. She waited for his next move, but he didn't make one. Just _looked_ at the apex of her thighs with a ravenous expression, the one he usually made just the moment before he plunged his tongue into her.

And _looked_. Buffy struggled not to squirm. How could just his eyes on her get her so hot?

Finally, she made a frustrated noise and uncrossed her legs. Spike bent at the waist like he was taking a bow and then shuffled forward on his knees to lean down to her, so slow she almost grabbed him by the back of the head and — hey, wait.

Buffy grabbed him by the back of the head and shoved him down. He groaned against her and then laved his tongue broadly up her cunt, open-mouthed and sloppier than usual, like he was collecting her taste. "Inside," she told him as she angled his head down a little, and he hardened the muscle, squirming it up against her opening and dipping inside. "Look at me."

His eyes flashed up to meet hers and she rocked her hips against his face, rubbing her clit against the ridge of his nose. It was always gratifying to look at Spike's face when she had sex with him, because he always looked at her like there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be but between her thighs. At the moment, with his shoulders pulled back and the delicate line of his collarbone pushed to the surface, he looked like nothing so much as a man worshipping.

That was probably what he would say, anyway, if he could talk. Buffy threaded her fingers through his hair, gently running her nails against his scalp, and twisted to make him gasp against her and lift his chin to graze the edge of her clit with his front teeth, tongue reaching up, lips trying to fit themselves around it. He was trying to suck her, she realized, but instead she pulled him harder against her — advantages of not having to breathe: not getting mad when Buffy didn't let him up for air — and tightened her thighs around his ears.

He groaned again like she was killing him. "I like having you like this," she told him, when she could stand to speak, although her voice was airy. "It's like, the only way to keep you from talking."

Buffy had never seen a man roll his eyes while he was sucking on her pussy. But Spike was a multitasker, and he might be up to his cheeks between her legs and making luridly encouraging noises, but he could still take time out to be an asshole.

She tipped his head back, opening his mouth against her, and let him work his jaw, his lips sucking, tongue giving her a hard, circular pressure while he tried to squirm closer to her, shoulders straining, head tugging against her hand in his hair.

When she yanked on it like she could control him that way, he moaned. She did it again to watch the muscles in his back tighten as he rocked his hips forward.

Besides, the vibrations were nice. And without his fingers in play, she needed something a little harder than —

Oh. His nose dragging hard against her, his teeth gently closing around her where she was swollen and dripping. It sent a shock through her, like a warning of danger, and then he was sucking, sharp and sure, while his eyes bored into her, molten with want. "Oh, god," Buffy said, voice embarrassingly high as she yanked on him again, earning her the rumble of another noise inside her and a strong roll of his tongue against her. "Do that again."

Delicate. Sharp. There was no one who could give her a razor edge of pain like Spike, who could tip her just on the edge between ecstasy and agony. Buffy shoved her hips against his face, letting him move his neck with her to keep his teeth from pressing into her too hard.

He raised an eyebrow, and then his face shifted, eyes going golden. The sharp edge against her flesh sparked newly bright and hot, and Buffy's legs spasmed, pulling him deeper into her as she came. Her head fell back and she made a frenzied noise, gasping her release. That there was no sharp, cutting pain meant that he had either retracted his fangs or covered them, but the teasing pressure of them, just for an instant, just for a threat, had been enough.

When she looked back down at him, taking gulps of air like she had run a race, he had shifted back and was sucking on her gently, her hand still fisted in his hair. She let him go and he didn't bother to come up, just kept his nose buried there, hazy eyes sliding closed. "What, you want to stay there?" she asked.

He hummed his assent and pressed a swallowing kiss against her.

" — _majorly_ fine by me," she told him, and hooked her legs over his shoulders.


	26. shower sex (fuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all certainly do be clicking on this
> 
> anyway without further ado, tiddeez

Slayers were never supposed to live to be twenty-five, and Buffy could say that with some authority, because she was twenty-five and her back hurt after she had slept on it funny. Her. Superpower girl. All _crick in my neck_ girl after a night on a plane to get to Ohio.

Faith's shower, mercifully, had fantastic water pressure — Buffy was fairly sure that showerhead hadn't come with the apartment — and it ran hot, unknotting the muscles that had tied themselves all tangly together on her trip over. The steam had fogged out the shower wall and the mirror, and her only warning when the glass door opened was the fact that, suddenly, her back felt kind of cold.

"Hey, B," Faith yawned, and stepped inside behind her. "Just got back from patrol."

"Just got in from Hopkins," Buffy told her in turn, leaning forwards to get her face clear of the water so she could talk, letting it wet down her hair, plastering it heavily to the back of her neck. "I figured you were probably out doing the stakey thing."

"Sword thing, actually." Faith hip-checked her out of the water to wet her own hair, wrapping her arms around Buffy's waist and pulling her backwards against her chest when she was done. "Groxlar beasts. Ooh, baby, what a fight. You should've been there."

Underneath the immediate warmth from the shower, Faith's skin was cold from the outside. But it was warming, and slick with water from the shower, and when she tucked her chin over Buffy's shoulder. "I hate those things."

"Everybody hates 'em, they eat baby heads." Faith's hands tickled her sides and Buffy elbowed her. "Hey, you want to wash the blood off my back?"

"They say romance is dead."

Faith pressed a huge grin against the back of her shoulder. "And we killed it!"

Buffy wrinkled her nose and reached for Faith's shampoo. The bottle was red and had some sort of jewel-y-looking fruit on the front. "My hair smells like airport."

"Mine smells like baby-eating monsters," Faith replied, now skimming her palms up and down the dip of Buffy's waist, her fingers just teasing at the lower curve of her breasts at the top and at the flare of her hips at the bottom. "I win."

Doing her best to ignore the touch and mostly failing miserably, Buffy lathered up her hair and then started rinsing it out. By the time she could open her eyes again, Faith's hands were getting all squeezy on her upper thighs, and were dangerously close to traveling inwards. "Your fingers are cold."

"Bet I know where I can warm them up," Faith purred, and pressed against her back, her breasts soft against Buffy's shoulderblades, the tops of her thighs brushing against Buffy's ass. Her fingers were now tracing the line of Buffy's hips, making their way down the creases of her thighs. "C'mon, B, I'm all post-Slay-horny and there's a hot chick in my shower making it worse."

It had been a while since they had seen each other and Buffy would be lying if she said her body wasn't already tingling under the touch. Plus, Faith smelled like heat and sweat, and the line of her body, warming the space between them, felt nice on the muscles in her back. It _all_ felt nice, the shower beating needle-sharp on her face and shoulders and the woman wrapped around her, soft and strong. "Okay," she said, and took Faith's wrists in her hands and moved them down to the space between her legs. "Okay, yeah."

"Hell yes," Faith murmured against her neck, and found Buffy's cleft with one of the fingers on her right hand, sliding a finger through her folds without so much as a how-do-you-do. "And after this you're going to fuck me, right?"

Buffy bit her lip and widened her stance a little bit. "After I blow-dry my hair."

"Please, you're going to need another shower when I'm done with you anyway." She wasn't wasting any time getting to it. Faith never did. Two of her fingers were pressed snugly to either side of her pussy, a third stroking between them, rubbing strongly against her clit. If she hadn't been wet already, it might have hurt, but, like Faith had said: in the shower with hot naked girl. Being wet? Not a problem. "'cause I mean, I want you to get all Slayer-in-chief on me. I want it _hard_ , sister."

"You always want it hard," Buffy pointed out, as Faith started circling her middle finger, her hand tight up against Buffy's body. Gentle and teasing weren't really her style, especially not with the post-fight adrenaline running in her. "Do you remember — "

" — the time I broke the strap-on?"

"I was gonna say the time you were all stumbly-girl while we were fighting those warehouse vamps because you kept yelling at me to give you more before we left — "

Faith's nipples were hard against her back, and her hips were grinding unconsciously forwards. The smile was evident in her voice as she rubbed Buffy a little harder. "I couldn't walk straight for two days. Mm."

"You told a _vampire_ you couldn't do a high kick because your pussy was too swollen."

Without an ounce of embarrassment, Faith slipped two fingers inside her, and Buffy sucked in a hard breath. "And he helpfully brought his head down to foot level."

"That was because he was too busy gaping at you to notice you tripping him," she muttered, but her body was leaning hard back against Faith, who had backed into the shower wall and was standing with her feet planted on either side of Buffy's, calves tucked warmly together. Buffy dragged her hands up her body to squeeze at her own breasts, arms crossed over her belly so she could get her nipples in the crook of her thumb and forefinger. She made a little satisfied noise at the flash of sensation.

"Less Faith-is-a-slut, more Buffy-is-a-slut," Faith told her against the line of her neck, now plunging her fingers in and out of Buffy, the stake-callouses on the palm of her hand sliding across her clit. "Come on, screamer, scream."

She hooked her fingers hard up against the front wall of Buffy's cunt and Buffy — well, no screaming. Maybe a little squeak. Another little squeak when Faith did it again, harder, and tucked her thumb in against her palm to run the side of it up against her where her clit peeked out of its hood, swollen and pink. "Oh," she said, when Faith ground her hand against her. "Again."

There was a huge, toothy smile against the back of her neck when Faith did it again, and one of Buffy's hands abandoned her breast to fly up and tangle backwards in Faith's hair, wet and heavy. The shower would almost be easy to ignore, except that Buffy's legs were still in it and the steam was still rising around them, making her almost dizzy as Faith fucked her with her fingers.

Then Faith started sucking on the side of her neck, neat little sparks of pleasure that would leave bruises, high and dark, for the other Slayers to see when they went out tomorrow.

Her fingers pistoned faster. Buffy was gasping, and Faith was moving against her back, obviously imagining a more horizontal area with more toys in it as she brought Buffy off.

"Ooh," Buffy sighed when she came, a little punched-out sound that made Faith laugh and catch her around the waist like she was going to fall. Which, okay, legs a little bit making like jelly, but she was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She wasn't going to go all Bambi legs just from a little — 

"My turn," Faith said, drawing her fingers out and hip-checking Buffy out of the stream of water to stumble into the opposite wall, the space between her legs feeling sore and satisfied. "Next time, I'm introducing you to my showerhead."

Buffy gave in to the muscle weakness and slid to her knees, hands reaching for Faith's hips.

"Oh, _yeah_ ," Faith moaned.


	27. vampires lmao (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the prompt for today was actually vampire au which like, lol, but there's this very specific vampire trope that keeps cropping up in this fandom that i simply LOVE and wanted to WRITE about. like vampire pack dynamics and a little bit of it is coming up in the butch spike soul thing but like, obviously not this way because butch spike is a Lesbian

Angel woke up to the feeling of something shifting beneath him and immediately realized that Spike was trapped between him and the mattress, and trying to wriggle his way free. They had fallen asleep on opposite sides of the bed, but Spike was relentlessly clingy when unconscious and Angel had, apparently, succumbed to old habit in his sleep and blanketed the smaller body with his own.

Lying like this had used to make Spike purr and go contentedly still, like one of his childer. There was a sentimental part of Angel that missed those days, being the unchallenged patriarch of their little clan, able to provoke fear or inspire deep calm with just a look in their directions. The relationship had been vastly less complicated when putting a hand on Spike's warm belly after a meal would make him sweet and pliant and when putting one on the back of his neck after a fight would make him stand up straight and tremble. These days Spike was about as likely to call him sire as he was to take a stroll outside at midday.

"You used to like sleeping like this," Angel told him wistfully, and Spike twitched, clearly realizing with a start that he wasn't the only one awake.

"Also used to like getting hung up by the thumbs and whipped bloody. People change."

Angel snorted. "You still like that."

He got no response for a moment, just Spike's lean body moving slightly under him, tucked into a parody of the protection that made this position so soothing to some fledges. "Getting off me anytime soon, or should I start thinking about chewing through my wrists?"

"Do you remember Seville?"

A wordless affirming noise, and Spike went still, and lifted his chin to open his mouth over the side of Angel's throat. When his fangs slid in, just barely, the little pinpricks of warm pain sent him back.

 _ **Seville, 1883**_.

Angelus forgot, occasionally, how new Will was to the world. Fledges were deceptively cocky — they always felt stronger than they ever had been in their lives — but when push came to shove, most of them could be backed down with a strong growl from a master. In her early days, Dru had broken down into a screaming mess when lightly menaced by the master of Edinburgh. Angelus himself had had to brutally suppress his instincts to grovel when faced with the Master's wrath.

Will had been flatly threatened by a master of some line Angelus had never heard of, and he had responded by snapping his teeth in defiance — valiant, if stupid — but his little steps backwards, to huddle into Angelus' shadow, were telltale. It was worth rewarding any tendency of Will's to treat him like his sire instinctually, so he had taken on the duties of one and torn the advancing vampire to shreds.

That was the way of things: your sire protected you when you were vulnerable, and you thanked them with your obedient service until you were old enough that you stopped racking up debts to pay.

The boy slithered to his knees in the back of the carriage Angelus hired to get back to the house they were occupying and sucked him off enthusiastically.

Dru, his real sire, wasn't really able to hold the sort of hard line you had to, with a new-fledged childe. So the responsibility had fallen to Angelus to train him. And Will gave them both the benefits, although he lacked for obedience and possessed an excess of spirit. When Darla was away, as she often was in those early years, Angelus only had to beckon either of them to have them crawling into his bed, even though, by blood right, only Dru was his to beckon.

And really, it balanced. There was Dru for obedient service, and Will for spirited backtalk. But that didn't mean he didn't appreciate the occasional role reversal. Dru acting up to provoke punishment. Will as he was now, lulled by instinct into saying "Sire?" questioningly when Angelus got out of the carriage and held out a hand to him.

In the end he followed without an argument and without explanation, and let Angelus drag him through the door and up the stairs and into the bedroom. When Darla wasn't around, all three of them shared more often than not, so when Will crawled onto the bed, it was Angelus' pillow he chose. He lifted his hips, still trouser-clad and bulging at the front seam with his hardness. Angelus stroked the fine tight curve of his ass and felt the muscle tense under him as if anticipating a blow. A blow would be within his rights. Will had provoked the conflict that had necessitated the fight. "You didn't eat, did you, childe?"

"Antino interrupted me," Will grumbled, and shifted, his back bowing gracefully. He had mostly stopped trying to claim the upper hand in bed after the first few times Angelus had put him down, and although he wouldn't admit his submission without a fight, he occasionally, like now, demonstrated signs that it came naturally to him. The uplifted hips; the chest held low to the mattress. "...prick."

"We'll have to rectify that."

Will raised his head, looking over his shoulder and blinking in confusion a few times before Angelus took him by the hip and pushed him over, rolling him onto his back. "But I thought — "

It was a good thought. Made to go to bed hungry, maybe after Angelus had drained him a little to drive the point home. It was appropriate punishment. But Angelus hated to be predictable, and besides, the fight hadn't put him in any real danger. "That I'd be angry?"

"You aren't?" Will let himself be dragged into Angelus' lap, his trousers shoved down around his thighs, but didn't touch. Normally he was almost annoyingly handsy, but he must still be gripped by an instinct telling him to placate. Sweet that that instinct transferred to Angelus even without the call of sire's blood.

Angelus shrugged, and kneaded his ass with his hands. "I was looking for a good scrap tonight."

"That wasn't a good scrap, sire, you took him in less than five minutes." A little squirm in his lap, pushing wantonly back against his fingers. The proud, puffed-up expression of a fledge who was secure in the fact that his sire was stronger than the others. "He barely had time to beg."

It was true. The fight had been pathetic; in point of fact he had never had a good brawl with a Spanish master. The Italians, now, they knew how to have a good time. "Take me out."

Will's hands fumbled a little with his waistband as he obeyed.

"Here are the rules," Angelus told him, lifting him by the ass. "If I feel pain while you're drinking or you get your end away before I tell you to, we're done, and you'll sleep in the other room. You've got to learn a little finesse, boy. Not to mention restraint."

When he slid Will down onto his cock the boy whimpered. It was a good incentive, being banished. The lad liked to be touched, particularly while he was sleeping. Angelus held still while the trembling mouth sucked at the join of his neck and shoulder, cool tongue lapping kitten-like over the skin. The initial pierce of fangs always stung, there was no getting around that, and he wouldn't count it against the score, but once those sharp little teeth were inside him, Angelus started the clock and bounced him on his prick, a first test to see if he could hold steady while he moved.

No pain. No pull, either; Will wasn't drinking yet, though he was already hard and leaking from the taste of the blood in his mouth, the wet head of his cock dragging over the cloth covering Angelus' stomach.

When it came, the sensation was almost too gentle to be felt, like Will was taking tiny sucking sips from his throat, supremely careful as his body was dragged up and down Angelus' prick. It didn't hurt, but it didn't thrill either; it was obvious that Will was being careful with his prize, not daring to take too much in a mouthful. At this rate, it would be hours before he even felt the effects of blood loss.

"Too slow, childe," he murmured, and reached a hand between them to wrap around his prick. "You won't get full like that. Not before I make you come."

The boy was making soft, plaintive moaning noises against his throat, which was a good sign that he was already close. Fledges really didn't have an ounce of restraint. This one had decent control of his mouth, though; he had held still for long moments in the carriage with Angelus' cock snugly down his throat, looking up at him with awed eyes, and now he was quickening his drinking, still not quite painful, but teetering on the edge of it. It was a delicate balance to walk, and for the sake of having a full bed to sleep in during the day, Angelus hoped he didn't fall over.

"Steady, boy," he growled, and was rewarded with Will's body clenching tight around him as it rose and fell on his shaft. The fangs in his neck clamped down, just to the point where they were beginning to ache — " _Careful_."

He was fucking him at a steady rate now as Will backed his teeth out, tongue teasing at the skin between them to soothe it. When the boy started to twist his hips down against him, Angelus decided he had had quite enough active participation, and took him by the back and bore him down onto the bed, settling heavy between his legs with his cock still shoved up inside him. Will had had to release his grip to avoid tearing skin with the jostling from the movement and gasped when he was pressed down, mouth returning to his throat to lap at the puncture wounds, still barely bleeding. When he fixed his lips over it, it felt like he was trying to leave a mark, and little though Angelus planned to allow that, the sensation aroused him, made him smother the boy with his body and drive into him harder.

"Now," Angelus told him, voice harsh and low in his ear.

The grip around him tightened spasmodically as Will let go of his throat, crying for his sire and throwing his head back as Angelus squeezed his spend out of him with one big hand. He accepted the final few thrusts without resistance, and when Angelus finished, he wiggled slightly under him and then lay still as his grandsire's weight dropped onto his chest.

When Angelus dragged the covers up over them, Will's chest vibrated against his with contentment.

_**Present day.** _

"You were so cute," Angel told him as Spike suckled at his neck. "Mostly because you didn't talk so much."

"I was not bloody _cute_ , you absolute wanker," Spike told him, pulling his fangs free. "Plus, you were always putting things in my mouth; it's not like I was choosing to be quiet."

"Stay here for a while." _Like this, under me, like the old days_.

He could tell Spike wanted to, but his pride wouldn't let him admit it. A sigh, cool against his throat, against the wounds still open there. " — only if you shag me back to sleep."

"Deal."


	28. praise kink (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> man this one was so tough to write you wouldn't believe it. it's so fucking difficult for me to be nice to spike. i spent an hour just staring at the blank real text window trying to figure out how to start without opening snark before giving up and starting with opening snark
> 
> anyway spike obviously has a massive praise kink

As a teenager, Buffy's Bad Day Cure had mostly involved ice cream, movies with her mom and Dawn, and sometimes buying new shoes. As she'd grown up, she'd introduced alcohol to the mix and the people she watched movies with had changed. Sometimes killing things helped, or sparring with Spike, if they were together and there was somewhere nearby that could afford to get trashed.

Spike's Bad Day Cure, apparently, involved being chained to the headboard.

Predictable, really. She'd found him there when she'd gotten home, wrists manacled together, chain through the posts, key sticking jauntily out of his smirking mouth. He'd spit it out onto his chest when she'd entered the bedroom, and greeted her: "How's my girl?" (Drop the H, hold the i.)

"Pretty good." Buffy put down her purse and toed out of her shoes, looking at him. All the elements of Spike's usual mien (toothy smile, cheery tone, weird sex stuff) were present, but there was something funny about the set of his eyes. "How's my guy?"

"I have been a _very_ patient boy, I'll have you know," he told her, mouth twitching with mirth. "You've got no bloody idea how hard it is getting the key down your face to your mouth. It's a sight easier with an Oreo."

She let out a bubble of laughter without meaning to, reaching down to start unbuttoning her shirt. "Maybe we should try having sex with those next time."

Spike beamed at her, the same mad light in his eyes that he always got during a good fight. "Got one hidden on my body."

When she had shimmied her jeans down, she crawled up the bed to kneel over his hips. One surefire test. She put her hands on his chest, fingers splayed. "Mmhmm. Is that why I wanna lick you?"

A telltale shudder ran through the muscles under her hands. _Bingo_. "Couldn't rightly tell you, but I reckon you ought to trust those instincts."

Buffy bent to lick the side of his neck, her hair trailing against his arm. "Doesn't really taste like Oreos." Her hands skated down the plane of his chest to his stomach, thumbs skimming through the line of muscle in the center. "You know, I _probably_ want to lick you because you're really pretty."

"Am I, now?"

"Uh huh." Buffy traced her fingers over the lines of his hipbones, following them with her eyes until she hit her own legs. "All... carved."

He huffed. "Carved."

"Shut up, Spike. You know I'm not a wordsy person." She rocked her hips against him, rubbing against his stomach so he could feel the heat of her, separated only by the thin barrier of her panties. Her hands trailed back up over his sides, meeting his arms and skimming along them until she got to the place where he was hooked to the bed. "What I'm trying to say is, you're really hot when you're chained to my bed."

"It's the cheekbones," he told her, trying not to look pleased. "Cuffs bring 'em out."

Buffy's hands found the sides of his face, and she bent again, this time to kiss him. You could lose time kissing Spike; he seemed to have an endless array of ways to keep your mouth on his as he hardened against her ass. When he started unconsciously pulling against the chains, making soft clanking sounds as his hands tried to reach for her, she pulled away and laid her thumb over his lips to keep him from talking. "I was actually thinking about chaining you up the other day. I guess I shouldn't say thinking. Sort of like, fantasizing."

He opened his mouth to take her finger in and suck on it as she backed down his body. It was a characteristically Spike move, and when his mouth was securely around her he looked up at her with clear, bright eyes, hot with desire.

"I was kind of leaning towards riding you." Spike's hips twitched, and Buffy kept moving down. "Or maybe riding your face. But now — " She took his cock in hand, and looked up at him. Predictable again: he was staring at her fingers wrapped around him. " — I think it's kind of a shame not to taste you."

"Christ, Buffy," he said, as soon as she had retrieved her thumb. Buffy looked at him, and raised an eyebrow, and he snapped his mouth shut.

"Good," she told him offhandedly. The head of his cock was dark and leaking where it poked up from the circle of her fingers. She smiled at him before she lowered her head to lick it. "It's no Oreos, but I kinda like the taste of Spike." His jaw clenched, obvious because it bulged with the pressure, and he swallowed convulsively. Buffy fit her lips around the head and sucked until he groaned, then raised her chin again. "You're just the right size for me to do this to," she told him, and slid her hand once up and down his shaft. "You feel perfect inside me, filling me up."

She was starting to get wet, even as she blushed a little at the words she was saying, so she slid her hand down into her panties as she took him back into her mouth. The clank of chains that got her was almost enough to make her think he was really trying to get free. "Are you touching yourself, love?"

"It makes me really wet when I do this to you," she said, dragging her mouth back up the shaft to answer him. "I never really liked it until you."

Spike swore. Buffy sank back down on him as if she hadn't heard him, her hand going to steady the base as she slid down. He wasn't as big as Angel, who she had never had the opportunity to do this to, but he was big enough that she hit resistance before her lips could touch her fingers. When she swallowed around him to take him deeper, he let out a shout, jerking his hips up against her so she had to rock with him to avoid choking.

When she sucked him he made noises like he was dying. It was always flattering to have sex with Spike that way; he always acted like no one had ever touched him before in just the right way that you were now touching him. Her head bobbed, hair spilling over his belly, and he was groaning raggedly now with every little motion, giving her gasps when her teeth brushed him and gulping air he didn't need every time she swirled her tongue over the length in her mouth.

She had two fingers inside herself, and although she couldn't hear the noise of it, she knew he could, because he kept trying to give her his knee to ride. Finally she gave in and pressed down against his leg, hot at her core, panties dragging damply over his skin, and then, as she sank down again, she wormed her fingers, still wet with her own juices, between his legs to brush at the space behind his balls.

The noise he made when she slipped a finger inside him and pressed upwards was probably best described as a yowl. Stroking him there while she sucked him brought him quickly to panting and grinding his hips against her, his leg bucking up to rub against her. He was probably babbling something about how hot she was, but Buffy was pretty much not planning on listening to a word he said until he had come. The chains were clanking with fair regularity now, and finally, when she was down on him as far as she could go and had two fingers inside him, he spasmed and filled her mouth with seed.

Okay, maybe she should have listened for the warning.

She swallowed without tasting and sucked him clean, raising her head again to see his heaving chest and dizzy eyes. Then she smiled at him, still rocking gently against his leg. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke, but matter-of-fact. "I love you."

"Ride my face now, pet," he said immediately. Then, apparently realizing he'd forgotten to say it back: "I love you too."

"I want to do this looking at you, the first time," Buffy replied, and put her hand back between her legs, mostly to hear the moan he gave her as a reward.


	29. formal wear (sprusilla)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've run out of prompts i care about and am now making it up; this was actually a prompt from fairly early on that i skipped because i didn't think it was actually a kink but then i was like... hmm actually i want an excuse to google period fashion
> 
> bunch of casual murder in this as you might expect

It had been six bloody weeks of looking for Dru like mad when he finally found her. She'd fucked off and left him in Milan, and he'd been tracking her ever since. 

Even now, it was luck; he was wandering the night-dark streets of Paris and saw her, an ethereal figure drifting by him in the moonlight. Pale and goddess-like, with her hair gathered into a looping knot at the back of her neck, her body swathed in red silk and sequins that hung on her like a lover. It was almost an insult not to find her through skill, but she wasn't evidently trying to hide, because she gave him one of her mysterious vacant smiles as she vanished.

She liked a good game of hide and go seek, his Dru. And she was dressed up for a party, wearing dancing heels and a dress she had probably killed some high-class shopgirl for. Which meant that, wherever he was going to find her tonight, he needed a present and an outfit that wouldn't get him tossed out of a jazz club on his ear.

Shame. He liked that you could get away with just an undershirt in impolite company these days.

He found both by killing a couple in the Latin Quarter, a black suit that fit him more or less like a glove — Christ, he hated the things, but Dru loved to play dressup with him — and the string of pearls that had been draped through the woman's blonde hair, barely sparkling against the light curls. It would make Dru look like the night sky. The man's tie had blood on it, so he tossed it. He didn't want to wear the bloody thing anyway, and the open collar of the shirt might take the look of the day from poncey to rakish, which was more his style anyhow.

You had to have an impeccable fashion sense to dress yourself properly without a mirror, and he liked to think he'd grown one. He tucked the pearls into the jacket's inner pocket and set off to find his girl. Dogging her steps wouldn't have been any good; she was a dab hand at the disappearing act. No, she wanted him to find her by using his brain, and his brain was more than up to the task.

Montmartre was the place to start. Angelus (May He Fuck Off Forever) had taught Dru to like finery, but twenty years alone with Spike had introduced her to venues other than the bloody opera house to wear it in. She'd want to dance, wearing a dress like that that was made to sparkle with her movements. She'd want to hear music. New music, Dru was always interested in things that were new. Somewhere loud and shiny and crowded, because Dru always did love a crowd.

He caught her scent outside the second club he passed, and slipped inside. The style of the day was opulent, shiny, bloody eye-catching, but he could pick Dru out of a crowd of thousands, and he did, finding her on the dance floor as the band played. She had her arms around some poor bloke in a grey-checked waistcoat and a silk tie, who Spike was, unfortunately for him, going to have to kill. They were swaying while she looked deep into his eyes, and it was obvious she had him in thrall. Handsome enough, for a Frenchman. Dru's type of human: big, handsome features, smooth skin. Good dancer, nice hands. Well, all right. Maybe he'd let him live for now and they could pick him up later for a bit of fun.

When she saw him leaning against the bar, her eyes lit up. Her mouth formed the shape of the words _my William_ , and she abandoned her partner, who trailed after her looking foggy and confused. She came across the room towards him and it felt like the crowd parted before her, like she came floating across the room on those little black satin D'Orsay pumps, her dress flowing around her legs.

He wanted to play it cool, let her come to him, but he broke before she was halfway over, quickstepping across the room to catch her by the waist, beaming. When he went to kiss her she giggled and turned her head so his lips caught her jaw instead. "Minx," he snarled at her, but she tugged him out onto the dance floor, one hand on his cheek until she dropped away from him and into a rock step.

Vindictive, he loosed the tie in her hair when she twirled to come back-to-front with him, and sent the long dark waves tumbling around her shoulders — not the style of the day, but he always liked her best like this. It sent a cloud of her scent around them, blood and ice and flowers, and the insides of his gums itched to sprout fangs for her, but then she was dancing away from him, and he knew he looked like that idiot thralled human now, following her like a puppy.

"Brought you something, princess," he told her, when she got close enough for him to breathe it into her ear.

Her eyes were huge in the low light, shining with knowledge he didn't want, and her lips curved up, wicked and dark. "Show me."

Spike knew leverage when he saw it. "Kiss me, then."

When the dance ended she took him by the hand and led him off the floor, and in the shadows beside she took him by the jaw and drew him forwards, leaning back against the wall to let him trap her there. He put his hands on her waist, sliding one proprietarily to the small of her back, and the other down to her leg under the sharp sequins as he kissed her. Her flunky was watching them from the edge of the dance floor; he could feel the eyes on his back, and he grabbed her by the legs and lifted her up to show the man who she belonged to.

But Dru dug the sharp edge of her shoe's heel into his back and growled softly at him. "Naughty boy," she said, and bit his lower lip so it bled, nails digging into the back of his neck until he obeyed and dropped her. "Luring his princess into the shadows with promises."

"And you love the shadows," he protested. "Haven't we had a fair bit of fun in them?"

She stared at him, and though she couldn't thrall him, he reached into his pocket for the pearls and strung them out for her, a net of glimmering, irregularly-shaped beads that she turned around — silk-covered arse rubbing against his crotch, sequins flashing — to let him clip into her hair. The strings faded into obscurity in her hair, leaving only the glints of pearls in the light as she pushed him off when he pressed his lips to her throat and slipped beneath his arm to go back to the human.

Maybe he'd kill him after all. Have himself a nice little massacre while the saxophones played.

Dru'd left him hard from the taste of her, the feel of her body against his, and he adjusted himself in the black suit trousers to watch the two of them dancing. "Beaux cheveux," he heard the man say to her, and he straightened his jacket and looked away from them to find a girl in a short pink little nothing dress looking at him.

"I saw you dancing," she said, accent heavy, eyes obviously running up and down the lines of his body in the suit. Her hair was bobbed, which was the style, now. A style he'd kept Drusilla away from mostly through distracting her every time they walked by a salon. "Would you like to dance with me?"

Not really. She was too little to tempt him, barely five feet tall and boyishly slim, as was the fashion. And the hair, he bloody well hated the hair. But he turned a charming grin on her anyhow and held out a hand to her. They didn't even make it through one dance before Dru was wrapping herself around his back and looking into the girl's eyes over his shoulder, drawing her into the same dreamlike state as the other bloke. "This is _my_ prince," she said, voice soft and venomous. "Your heart isn't black enough for him."

She always was a jealous girl. Spike turned in her arms and kissed her right there on the floor, and then held his hand out backwards to the girl, like he was inviting her into another dance. "C'mere, love."

Dru killed her before they'd even made it off the floor, turning her head sharply to the side. Spike caught her as though she'd fainted and slid her into a booth before Dru whispered in his ear, "Give her kisses."

It was possible to do it as though he were only kissing her neck, and in a corner like this in a club like this — frippery for the degenerates — no one would care. Dru slid in beside him and wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands stroking over his stomach, playing with the buttons of his waistcoat while her cheek rested against his back through the suit jacket. 

"You forgot your gorget, Spike," she murmured. "And now you run too fast."

Then her hand was in his trousers, light-fingered and smooth. Her man was sitting on the opposite side of the booth now, watching them as she pressed lipsticked kisses against the black fabric and he sucked the girl dry. She took it out when he was done, feeling warm with blood and wanting her in his arms, and slipped into his lap, slinging her arms around his neck and pulling him up to kiss her again. "I'm not running from you, pet," he told her, hands settling low on her waist, stroking over the curve of her arse. " _You_ ran from _me_ , you recall that?"

"Is my William going to make me pay my penance?" she purred, sounding enchanted at the idea. "For I've been missing the lovely bite of my boy's hand on me. And to see him here in his armor makes me wish to be stolen from the tower." Her hands were on his belt, tugging at it until it broke under her fingers as if it weren't good strong leather.

"Could whip you with that," he offered, but she spread her knees around his hips and he knew what she wanted. "Could whip you later, my plum."

It wasn't a bad enough club not to mind if he fucked her right here next to the dance floor, but if he got kicked out, he didn't much give a toss. Her skirt rucked up when he ran his hands under it, and when she took him out and sank down on him, smooth and cool where he was hot from the stolen blood, the silk fell to cover where they were joined. "Three fortnights thence," she sighed. "And three fortnights hence will see us here, but never betwixt."

It was bloody well hard to carry on a conversation that wasn't about how tight and sweet she was wrapped around him, especially when she was taking little grinding bounces of him, wriggling her body closer to his. "You wanna paint Paris red?" Her breasts were against his chest, too big to be fashionable but Christ, they felt sweet. Who gave a toss about fashion when you could have these curves? Her hair falling heavy around them as she rocked on him, sparkling with pearls? "I'll find us a little flat. Take you to the Champs-Élysées. Just don't run away from me again."

She would, of course she would. Because she liked it when he found her, and dragged her away. She liked to be seduced, his Dru, over and over and over again, like it was always her first time. One of her fingers traced his exposed collarbone. "Will you give me chase?"

"Always," he promised her, breathless as she clamped down on him and circled her hips. When he reached to put a hand up her skirt her she caught it and brought it to her face to kiss the palm as he spoke. "There's nowhere in the bloody world you can go where I won't find you, and do this again."

"What will you do again?"

It must be obvious what they were doing, even with her skirt decorously covering them, but no one stopped them. Good job they didn't try, or they _would_ have themselves a massacre. "Make you mine, princess."

"Make you mine," she repeated, and like daggers she slid her fangs into the side of his throat.

He groaned, and she started singing into the wound like she could close it with her voice, teeth still buried in him holding him open, the skin clamped between her jaws humming with the vibrations of her music, which bore no resemblance at all to the music from the stage. When his hand dragged through her hair, the net of pearls popped and hung crooked, a few of them dropping to the floor. She was rising and falling over him like the moon, and with them dripping from her hair she looked starspun, luminous. "You won't run."

"Of course I will," she told him, pulling back with her eyes still gold and her features still ridged. He kissed her against the fangs and let her cut his lip on them. The wound on his neck was wetting the white collar of the shirt he had stolen. "I have to be sure that my prince is true. And if he doesn't bring me a slipper, what will I do?"

"Go barefoot and naked and let him take you in the grass," Spike suggested helpfully as she rode him.

"Like a nymph." She looked delighted at the idea, and threw her head back, dress shining in the light, pearls clacking against the table as her hair fell against it. Still no one seemed foolish enough to tell them to fuck elsewhere.

"That's right," he panted, latching onto the thread. "You're my nymph, love, my bloody Daphne, whatever you want."

"I want you to flow in me," she whispered. "Like a river — like blood — like the pond with the fish."

He kissed her bare white throat, and itched to sink his teeth in, but that wasn't a thing you did without your sire's say-so. "Fishponds don't flow, love."

Her head snapped up and her golden eyes were bright and consuming as her hips picked up their pace. "Be in me, my William."

"Already in you."

"Be in me," she repeated, sing-song. "Be mine."

He spent himself with a shattering moan, face buried in her neck, fangs grazing the skin.

"Be in me," Dru said again.

He bit down, and she writhed and screamed and came around him. The music faltered, but when Spike glared at the bassist over Dru's shoulder, he started plucking again, and he kissed Dru again, deep and hard, and waited for someone to tell them to leave.

Depending on how polite they were, a massacre could still be in the cards.


	30. body shots (spangel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all i just realized i cracked 50k on this which means that technically i did porn nanowrimo during finals. i wrote a full porn novel. this is frankly insane and someone should have stopped me. i blame all of you
> 
> this one is just silly tbh. had to write angel bottoming one time i suppose

Spike balanced the shotglass on Angel's forehead, and crowed when it stood upright. Angel sighed, already annoyed, and then the lime wedge in his mouth shut him up. "Now, that's no way to treat the most fun way to get rat-arsed," Spike chastised him, shaking salt out onto the line of his throat. "Stop moving or you'll bollocks it up."

Then his tongue was dragging up the front of Angel's neck, rough and cool, and scraping away the salt. After that Spike fitted his lips around the rim of the glass, holding himself over Angel, and knocked his head back so the tequila disappeared before he retrieved the shotglass from his mouth with one hand and bent down to delicately retrieve the lime without their lips ever touching. He flipped it with his tongue and bit down on it, spitting out the rind onto the carpet below them and grinning like a loon.

"My turn," Angel told him, and slammed him into the ground so hard he yelped.

"Are we fighting or getting fucked up, mate?"

He poured another shot of tequila, his voice absent. "Usually both."

It balanced easily at the top of Spike's sternum, and then he tapped out a line of salt onto one of his collarbones. The lime went where it always went, which meant a blissful few minutes of Spike not fucking talking. When he had it done, he put his tongue in the wing of Spike's collarbone and took a long, slow lap up the bone, which felt almost delicate under his ministrations. He took the shot with his hand and then bent up to take the lime from Spike, who decided to play tug of war with it, holding onto it with his teeth while Angel pulled. Finally, Angel plucked it out of his mouth with his fingers and kissed him against the floor, Spike's hands twisting into his hair until he had enough purchase to throw him back and leap up over him. " _My_ turn."

This time the line of salt went between Angel's pectoral muscles, and the shot wobbled precariously on the hollow of his collarbone. It was so hard not to swallow when Spike's tongue stroked the salt away that the glass teetered, but it was caught between thin pink lips before it had a chance to get all over his chest, and then it was disappearing like the first shot.

When he had spit out the glass onto the floor next to Angel's head, Spike took the lime at one corner and peeled it out of his mouth, transparently gleeful at the way Angel's chin lifted like he was trying to chase the kiss Spike kept dodging. "If you want to get a buzz on in a timely fashion you're going to have to knock off staring at my mouth and get drinking, big man."

"I can do both," he muttered, and reached for Spike's shoulders, only to have him sit back out of his reach and beckon with two fingers.

A shit-eating grin. "C'mon, Mickey. Give us the magic."

Angel sat up and grabbed him by the knees, yanking so that he fell backwards, pinning him down by the throat when he tried to roll. He put the lime in first so Spike couldn't protest, then balanced the shot in his navel. The muscles under it flexed as he was laying down the salt, tipping the glass, and then there was tequila running over the curves of Spike's body. He grinned at Angel when Angel glared at him and then ate the lime whole, peel and all. Angel made an annoyed noise. "That's disgusting."

"Quit bitching and get licking if you don't want this shot to be a total loss."

"I'm doing this because I want to," Angel informed him, before he bent his head to clean salt and liquor off Spike's belly with his tongue. His skin was smooth and cool and tasted like agave, and it jumped under Angel's mouth. Spike never could just stay still, even when he was asleep. For someone dead, he was remarkably bad at playing it, his hips tipping towards Angel, muscles rippling with the motion. When his tongue ran along the lines of Spike's ribs, to catch the tequila where it was dripping, the body under him jerked, ticklish.

"Hey, give me the bottle and do one down to my prick while you're at it."

Angel shook his head and lay down. "My turn."

"Well, if you want to play it like that, mate, roll over." Spike sat up and grabbed the bottle, taking a mouthful from it directly before he started filling another shot glass. Angel raised an eyebrow at him. "You heard me, Peaches. Go on, show us the backside that put the 'ass' in 'massacre'."

A heavy sigh. "I hate you."

"Yeah, me too." Spike held up a finger and twirled it. "Now, arse up, Captain, and if you're lucky I'll lick it."

The shot balanced right in the dip of his back, and he felt the salt sprinkle over the line of his spine. When Spike put a lime wedge between his cheeks Angel jerked in surprise and spilled the tequila, swearing. "Spike!"

"Sphincter's slammed shut tighter'n the gates of heaven," Spike remarked, sounding cheery and holding him down. "Now hold still, mate, you're making a mess." His hands went to the floor to either side of Angel's waist, and his tongue rasped through the salt and alcohol pooling against Angel's spine, making an exaggerated sucking noise at the base of his back where the shot had fallen from, chin just barely brushing the swell of his ass.

God help him, it was turning him on. As if he already hadn't been, licking Spike's body, letting Spike lick him and stare up at him with his perpetual bedroom eyes. The muscles in his back were shivering, and Spike's teeth were grazing the dips to either side of his spine, mouth sliding thoroughly over every inch of skin and trailing lower.

"Bet you never did this, huh, gramps? Or did the Great Bitch lower herself?"

How was it possible that he was a quarter of the way to a thousand and there was still something left in bed that he hadn't done? And more annoyingly, how could Spike tell? "You're not fucking me," he said, irritated.

"Not yet. Reckon you probably _have_ done that. I know firsthand how much Darla loved to put a finger up there while she was sucking you off. Meant _this_." Spike's tongue touched his balls and then stroked up until he was licking the lime free and eating it. The rind dropped onto the small of Angel's back, and he growled at the presumption, but he didn't turn over. Spike's voice was amused. "Impatient, are we?"

"I'm going to — "

" — writhe and moan and say, _oh Spike, yes baby please_ ," Spike suggested, and then grabbed his ass and spread it, thumbs digging deep into the muscle. "Hey, reckon I could wedge a shot glass in here? Four down's barely a buzz."

Before Angel could get out a scathing reply, Spike's mouth was on him, nose wedged into his cheeks where the lime had sat, tongue broad and firm against him. It just felt strange at first, wet and slippery, but he was already hard, and when Spike circled his hole with the point of his tongue, he forgot what he had been going to say.

It was definitely not _oh, Spike, yes_. But it might have been _do that again_ or maybe _do it harder_. He could feel Spike's sharp jaw moving against him, his tongue flexing, creeping just inside — and it wasn't that he hadn't ever wondered what it felt like, but — 

"One sec, pet," Spike told him, drawing back and taking one of his hands away. Angel debated whether it was worth his dignity to yell at him for stopping. "Gotta take another shot."

"If you salt my ass I'll dust you right here."

Spike grabbed for the salt shaker and Angel swiped it away from him in the same motion, and then he was putting his mouth back where it belonged, tongue creeping out to — _what the hell_ was that?

"Hey! Are you dripping tequila into my ass?"

A swallowing sound. "That's one way to get you flying." Then the flat of Spike's tongue against him again, cool and wet with the liquor he'd just taken down, until his mouth was fixed over Angel. Without warning, he sucked, teeth just barely grazing the rim, and Angel yelped.

He'd seen Spike eat Dru out probably more than a thousand times, and he always went about it like he was starved, wild for the taste of her, until she was gripping his hair and shrieking and grinding against him. Either he'd found more finesse in the intervening century or his technique was different for this particular act, because while Spike was giving him powerful, targeted strokes of his tongue, he didn't seem to be gagging for it like he always was. He was applying tongue and teeth and suction in tiny, precise little movements, like he was untying a knot.

"Stop thinking, old man," he said, pulling back briefly to get the words out.

"Shut up." Angel reached back, slid a hand into his hair, and shoved him back down, burying his face. A surprised noise vibrated against him, and then Spike was laughing into him, which was deeply embarrassing but also not unpleasant. When he corkscrewed the tip of his tongue back inside, it was harder and less focused. "Yeah," Angel told him, and tightened his hand in Spike's hair so hard it had to hurt. "Like that."

Spike's hands were twitching where they were holding him open, his body moving in a way that probably meant he was humping the floor, and — well, Angel guessed he could join the club. His strokes were getting sloppier, tongue fucking him now more than anything, occasionally twisting to keep things interesting. The grazes of his teeth were growing bolder, and he was making little groaning noises when his tongue was in his mouth enough to make any noise.

Angel paused, and grimaced, and tried not to shove his hips back. The groaning noises might be him.

It wasn't the same as a finger, or anything bigger, but it was... dextrous. And Spike was everywhere at once, fondling his balls with one hand while the other kept Angel pulled open for his mouth. If Spike were a human, it would be hot and clinging and — Christ. Wriggling up inside him. He wasn't drunk enough to be feeling this good. His cock was hard as diamonds, trapped up between his belly and the carpet, rubbing against the fibers when his hips shook involuntarily.

Spike pressed a thumb against the sensitive space in front of his hole, and sucked on him, and that was about all he could take.

He was _not writhing_. Maybe moaning. Definitely no begging!

Worming a hand down his body to grip himself and stroke, lifting his hips to press harder against Spike's mouth, encourage him to thrust his tongue deeper — yeah. That stuff, yeah. Spike squeezed his balls lightly and the orgasm felt like it dragged out of him, rutting into the tight clasp of his hand. He bit his forearm to keep from grunting as he spilled, hard enough to draw blood.

The room was quiet; Spike wasn't breathing — for utility's sake — and Angel had stopped without meaning to. He felt wet between the thighs, and wondered if this was how women felt.

"You're three shots behind," Spike reminded him, finally, flopping onto the ground beside him just as Angel was thinking he'd never be able to face him again after having that thought. "Reckon I could be convinced to hand back the bottle if you'll suck me off."

Angel's hand flashed out and grabbed the bottle from him, and following the short scuffle — Spike, with his erection still waving, was at something of a disadvantage, and easily distracted — uncapped it, taking a gulp from it.

" _Now_ I'll suck you off," he said, and handed it back.


	31. old married sex (spuffy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> companion piece to part 1 because idk i wanted to go out with an old marrieds bang

The moon in Stuttgart was rising over the balcony, and Buffy Summers was beautiful. The night was crisp and cold and the air tasted like ice and Buffy Summers was beautiful. The street below was ringing with festivity and Buffy Summers was beautiful and limned in moonlight and looking up at the stars, which shone in her hair like water. "Are you going to stop staring at me anytime soon, or am I going to have to go find a paper bag to put over my head?" she asked, not turning to face him, which suited him just fine. In profile like this it was possible to see every change from the girl she had been at sixteen. Sharper chin, leaner build. The lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, barely visible in daylight, shaded in the delicate light of the moon.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, and took a drag on his cigarette.

"I'm thinking about why you're staring at me. Do I have something on my face? Is it my hair?"

Spike reached out to tuck a lock behind her ear. "Your hair's perfect, love." It wasn't greying, at least not so's you could see, but Buffy would occasionally dig an errant strand out of her hairbrush and pout at it for daring to age. "You look beautiful. Don't go running for a sack just yet."

She smiled at him. She always did, when he told her she was beautiful, as if she didn't know. As if after all these bloody years, he might _stop_ finding her beautiful in one of the breaks between telling her so. His hand lingered in her hair and then wound her closer by the strand, dragging her into a slow kiss that he didn't let her pull away from until she had collapsed into his side and was hanging on his collar. When he tugged her into his lap she didn't fight him, swinging a leg over his hips and pressing close.

The first time they'd shagged she'd been so thin her breasts had barely managed to poke him without a squeeze. They weren't as high and firm as they had been then, not anymore, but they were big enough to compress softly against his chest when he wound his arms around her waist.

"I'm old," she tried, an old familiar bag between them.

"Lucky I've got a thing for older women." Spike ran his hands down her back, the lean strong muscles lining her spine. She was wearing a slightly-too-big Dead Kennedys shirt over her underwear and a fuzzy blue blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and she was bloody beautiful. "You should've seen my last girlfriend."

"Harmony?"

"Dru, you twit."

"No, I definitely recall Harmony in there somewhere in the middle — "

"Stop talking about Harm or you're not getting any tonight, pet." Spike flicked the cigarette over the balcony and stood up with her in his arms, dragging her inside and out of the cold. When the blanket slipped off her shoulders he nearly tripped on it as it hit him in the legs. "You look a bloody vision, you're not old, I worship at your sodding feet, can't get enough of you, all that. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."

Buffy giggled and wound her arms around his neck. "You know, you used to wait until _after_ sex for the weirdness to kick in."

"Nah, I just kept it in my head. It was always all _sunbeam flaring in your lovely body_ in there, salt-rose and topaz and that muck."

The stars over Stuttgart were spinning and Buffy Summers was still beautiful when she smiled at him. And wasn't that the bloody thing, that she smiled at him like that? That it creased up those little lines in the corners of her mouth, showing how she'd come by them honest, with years of smiling and frowning and bloody well living hard. "You're still staring."

He fell backwards onto the bed with her on top of him. "Stop me, then."

"No, I like it." She reached for the hem of her shirt — well, his, really — and tugged it off over her head. The moon through the french doors was hidden behind her chest, and it cast a pale glow on the edges of her silhouette. "Makes me feel pretty."

"You are pretty." Of course she was. Buffy Summers could get to fifty — and as they were four fifths of the way there, he was hopeful she would — and still look exactly as good as she had at twenty. Different, sure. She'd been worn thin then, a deadly killing tool with the girl in her shoved so far down you could hardly see the silky little edges. Now: the woman was on the outside most of the time. Her breasts traced by moonlight, her thumbs hooking into the waistband of her panties as she started to drag them down. "Maybe I ought to stare a bit harder."

"I think you're hard enough already."

Spike clucked his tongue and took her by the hips as she raised herself to get her hands on his fly. "Not your best work, Slayer, comically speaking."

"Well, if you _don't_ think you're hard enough — "

Her thighs flexed and then she was lowering herself over his cock where it was poking out of his fly, lying on his stomach, the heat of her sliding against him. He was so bloody close to being inside, and then she rocked her hips back and slid along his shaft, wet and open against him. "You fuckin' tease." Buffy smiled at him, and he reached up to run his thumbs just along the lower curves of her breasts, making her arch into his hands. "You teach a girl how to shag you blind and she takes brutal advantage."

She started to pick up her pace, and when he looked down he could see that the underside of his prick was running across her clit, which was peeking out at him from between her legs, making his mouth water with the scent of her rubbing herself on him. "Uh, duh. You taught me that too. Where's your head at?"

"Currently about half a foot north of heaven," he grumbled, and she laughed. Her tits jiggled with the motion, her belly — not so tight as it had been at twenty, but not hardly the stomach of a middle-aged woman — shaking. She put her hands on his chest to hold him down when he tried to sit up and kiss her. Put her on her back, roll her over, anything. Just move her up a bit, give him a chance for the head of his prick to kiss the flower she was stroking all over him, anything. "Christ, Buffy, it's like you're dripping down the sides of me."

She didn't answer him, just screwed her eyes shut and tossed her head back like a lion, baring the long golden line of her throat, the barely-visible raised scars of the bitemarks at the base of it. When she pressed down harder against him, riding her body weight into him, he jerked and growled and she trembled. "Ooh. _Spike_."

"If I'd've known you just wanted a bit of humping, I would've done it on the balcony and damn the cold," he told her, voice rough. "No need for a bed when I could show you off to the world."

"Quiet down, Spike, I'm enjoying myself," she said, as if he wasn't there, and her shoulders flexed as she levered herself across him, her trim waist twisting like she could take him inside if she only found the right angle. She couldn't, not really — perpendicular lines — but when her cunt slid over the head of his cock, slick and hot, he could swear he was one good thrust away from sliding home.

There wasn't a part of Buffy's body he didn't love. The moon over Stuttgart was glazing the rooftops outside and he wished suddenly that he _had_ taken her there, on the balcony, with her hair flowing over the side and her bloody blanket all laid out below her and the curves of her body all frosted in moonlight. Legs open under the stars. He'd seen her in the nighttime air, of course. Hundreds of bloody times. The dark little space between her legs glistening slightly in the starlight, body all covered in a thin, reflective sheen of sweat that made her glow like she was the moon herself.

He fell quiet, and watched her take her pleasure. Looking over her body, stroking over it with his hands — the hard planes of her arms, the sharp angles of her hips, the places at the back of her legs where, exercise as she did, a little curve of fat still gathered, sweet and sensitive when he bit it. The noise from the street outside was louder than the sound of Buffy's ragged breathing as she ground against him, a parody of being inside her. If she picked his prick up and sank down on it now he'd shoot off before he was even hilted, he thought, and ran his fingers down the middle of her body to get his hands on her hips, to rock her faster.

The girl liked it hot and hard, and he was inclined to give it to her that way, and then when she quivered and came, to roll her over on her back and slip inside her, easy as breathing. His prick, held between her weight and his stomach, was almost pressed tightly enough to hurt. Maybe it might have hurt, if he didn't like that sort of thing. Being so close to her soaking core and yet, held just outside. Used for her, this beautiful warrior girl.

When she came, she didn't shriek like she might have if he had been pounding into her, but instead sighed, the lines of her body going liquid on top of him as she collapsed over his body. He could still feel her wet against his body, swollen now with the attention she had given herself, and he groaned and didn't execute his plan of taking over, because her thighs were trembling, and he wanted her to ride him until they gave out.

"Tell me what weird thing you're thinking," she murmured, as his fingers stroked through her hair.

He couldn't remember a single bloody word of Neruda with her lying against him like this. Knowing she was warm between the legs and ready to take him. "Can I read you poetry _after_ I fuck you, love?"

"No," she insisted, pushing herself up to rise over him again like the moon. "During."

Spike blinked at her, and then started laughing even as she gripped him in one hand and held herself poised over him. "Haunt my body, baby."

"You are so weird."

"I'm well-read."

"You're weird," Buffy repeated, biting her lip against amusement, and sank down.


End file.
